


Higher Education

by Hawkschild



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Smut, Interns & Internships, M/M, Office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkschild/pseuds/Hawkschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory Lestrade manages to secure a short-term apprenticeship at MI5. Unfortunately for him, Greg ends up stuck in a low level Data Analysis department, rather than working with agents on active investigations like he'd hoped. Worse yet, his new boss is a posh tosser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Education

**Author's Note:**

  * For [communionnimrod](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=communionnimrod).



> Co-Written with the-fit-and-feel-of-murder for communionnimrod for the Summer Mystrade Exchange.
> 
> We had no Britpicker and my knowledge of British laws, education systems, and apprenticeships is extremely lacking. This story may make more sense in the context of American internships. My research was a bit rushed, and any mistakes, confusion, and outright hysterical blunders are my own.  
> -Hawkschild

_“Study without desire spoils the memory, and it retains nothing that it takes in.”  
― Leonardo da Vinci_

When Greg stepped from the bus onto the pavement he found himself at the corner of Millband and Horseferry Road and looking up at the Thames House, an expansive white stoned building that he was only familiar with in passing. Even with its impressive archway and classic embellishments, it wasn’t the grandest in the area, only a short distance south of the Houses of Parliament. When Greg looked at the House, securing his briefcase in hand and gathering his nerves together, he wondered whether it held more secrets than any other on the street. 

After he'd sufficiently prepared, he made for the entryway with quick, determined strides. He met with security past the front doors and his name and case were checked - yes he was Gregory Lestrade, yes he was a student, yes he was signed up on the list for the pre-university internship. After all that, he was led through the building. 

It wasn't at all like he'd imagined. The few people he saw walked the halls quickly and silently, seeming to only speak to one another if it was absolutely necessary. Greg had expected a dark, moody, and traditional interior, something suggested by the imposing exterior of the building. What he found instead were offices awash in light with sterile, modern metal furnishings, or none at all. 

He tried to keep his eyes to himself whenever the security guard glanced to him, but it was difficult. His escort wasn't one for talk; indeed, he seemed to have a slight air of disapproval about letting someone so young onto the premises, but he didn't get to make the call. Greg had been subjected to a rigorous background check before he'd been accepted for the internship, and as far as the recruiters were concerned, he'd passed with flying colours. Besides, he wouldn't be tapped to handle anything extremely sensitive - he'd been assigned a short apprenticeship with one of the lower level workers, which meant he'd be a glorified assistant.

Greg's limited access security badge was briefly tugged out of his hands while the guard showed him how to operate the lift, and soon enough they came to a halt outside of a room full of desks and computers, with several small private offices tucked into the corners. "Here we are, Data and MI Analysis. You're assigned to the care of one Mr. Holmes."

"To the care of…?" Greg glanced to the man at his side, but he was given nothing in way of a response. He hadn't been told much at all about the tasks he'd be performing due to the nature of their work. That was meant to happen today, but he'd at least been under the impression that he was going to have a variety of things to do. For multiple people, and hopefully multiple departments. Holding his questions for the moment, Greg stepped up to the door and used his badge on the security panel the same way he had with its twin in the lift. The door clicked open. 

Greg’s escort left as soon as he was inside. People bustled to and fro, engaged with their terminals or carrying stacks of folders. Nobody paid Greg the slightest bit of attention until he stopped in front of a random desk to ask for directions. He was quickly waved towards one of the cramped offices in the back corner. A tiny plastic plaque next to the glass door declared that _M Holmes_ could be expected to be found inside.

The first thing that caught Greg's eye from the doorway was hair: bright ginger and cropped relatively short, but not enough to disguise a hint of curl. The next was papers, strewn about the room in stacks and piles that defied conventional organization. The young man who had to be Mr. Holmes was hammering away at a keyboard while referencing notes from five different folders, seemingly oblivious to the shadow darkening his doorway. 

Seemingly.

"Gregory Lestrade, I presume." The man finally glanced up, pale grey eyes fixed in a face that was unusually sharp-featured. He smiled pleasantly, but it was exactly the sort of detached pleasantness one reserved for strangers of no consequence. "You've been assigned to me for the duration of your stay here."

Apart from the papers and his furious typing he looked and sounded, in a word, extremely posh. 

Greg stood a little straighter. "And what is it that you do here?" The words came out a little more confrontational than he'd meant them to. He hadn't been told anything yet, he didn't even know this man, but from the poise of his shoulders and the soft, polished crispness of his voice, not to mention his office in the corner in the back of the room, Greg was already getting the sneaking suspicion that the real action was out there, and he'd just been stuffed in a closet. 

One hawkish eyebrow arched, wordlessly taking Greg to task for his tone. "What I do isn't much your concern, except where I deem you up to the task of assisting me. Until I take stock of your particular talents, whatever they might be, you'll be handling non-confidential clerical tasks and general legwork. We'll move you up from there when you prove yourself capable." The man's grey eyes swept over Greg as he spoke, visibly sizing him up.

Greg stood, if possible, even straighter. Holmes' plan was sound, if on the cautionary side, but frustrating. Greg's skin crawled with the way the man was looking at him, all poise and carefully relaxed features, but there was something cold underneath. He could have been wearing someone else's face. Or just as displeased as Greg was starting to feel that he'd been assigned a new intern. 

This time, Greg shot for a casual tone. "Alright, well I hope that won't be too long.” As if it were only banter and he knew very well that he'd be more than capable of whatever Mr. Holmes needed. 

Mr. Holmes made a noncommittal, polite hum that could have meant anything. "First things first. Go make us tea, and ask Mrs. Perden for another stack of empty folders. She'll be the older woman up front with the tape dispenser shaped like a high-heeled shoe." With that, Holmes' gaze turned back down to the papers in front of him, even as he was keenly watching Lestrade's silhouette out of the corner of his vision.

Greg stood there for another beat, disbelieving. _Tea._ He was sure the man was aware of just how much of a slap in the face that was, but he didn't show any signs of caring. With a twitch in his eye and a dour expression creeping into his features, Greg turned on his heel and went to find the woman with the shoe. 

He was sure he looked a lot less enthusiastic than he'd been when he first walked through the door, but still no one gave him a second glance. It took a bit of searching, but eventually he located the shoe, along with the rather severe lady sitting next to it. He would have rather made the tea first and let it go cold while he collected her empty folders, but as such he didn't exactly know where the break room was either. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Perden?"

"Yes, what-... oh." The woman took one look at Lestrade and Greg could clearly see the chain of thoughts his appearance triggered - too young to be a proper employee, and thus a rankless, hopeful apprentice. "What were you sent for, dear?" A set of keys on a lanyard were dug out of her pocket, and Mrs. Perden rose and began walking towards a nearby set of cabinets. "It's not about toner cartridges, is it? I've told the boys we're on a budget and they should use the digital systems more often, but they never listen."

"No," Greg said with a bit of a grimace. "I'm helping Mr. Holmes, for the moment. He needs more empty folders. And…could you point me to the cafeteria?" When she handed him a stack and pointed him down the hall, he wracked his brain for anything he could ask that would get him out of Mr. Holmes' clutches and not sound too nosey at the same time. He hadn't applied at MI5 to make tea. Finally settling on a vague idea before things became awkward, he raised his brows curiously. "Are there any other interns in the office?" 

Evidently Mrs. Perden had heard such careful whining before, unspoken complaints woven between the words that Lestrade _had_ said. She gave him a kindly smile. "Not many as such. It's an unusual case to take on young folks here, rather than in the other branch on the West coast. Management isn't too trusting, even with the background checks." She began to lock up the cabinets. "Word to the wise, young man, and don't you be breathing a word of this to anyone else. I'm sure you're thinking Mr. Holmes is a posh tosser who snuck in the door because his family hobnobs with the right people - don't you look at me like that, everyone in the office thought the same - but he works hard. I don't know how he's managed it, but he's jumped ranks quicker than anyone's seen before by closing cases and putting together data that everyone else missed."

A slender finger pushed tortoiseshell glasses further up Mrs. Perden's nose, and she nodded her head towards the cafeteria. "My advice to you, young man, is to buck up and make the man his tea. Even the keenest of us start out with thankless tasks. You don't have to like Mr. Holmes, but if you get on his good side, you'll be learning from one of the best. Don't look that gift horse in the mouth just because a public school accent is pouring out of it."

Greg's pasted-on smile tightened. He got the message loud and clear. "Thank you, Mrs. Perden." With that and a nod he made his way to the cafeteria. When he arrived he found an electric pot already heated and ready to go, but he had to search for the cups. Mr. Holmes hadn't told him how he took his tea. With lots of sugar, Greg assumed, and made it accordingly. His own had none. 

He had to pass Mrs. Perden on the way back to the office, and she gave him a knowing look as he did so. Greg pushed the door to Holmes' office open with his shoulder, teas in hand and folders under his arm. The man was still at his desk, as absorbed in his work as ever. 

If he really did land himself there through hard work, then that was fine with Greg. He could respect that. It still didn't mean he had to like the prim attitude. 

"Shut the door, if you please. I'm going to have you start with something simple." Holmes pointed to a stack of folders sitting next to a couple of binders in one corner. "I need you to compare shipping orders with copied documents of what was actually received at unloading docks. I need to know what went missing, when and where, and the listed value on the original orders." He accepted the mug of tea from Lestrade and automatically raised it to his mouth. A second later his eyes widened and he started coughing. The mug descended nearly quick enough to slosh tea over the work in front of him. "...is that how they make tea in Haringey?"

Greg turned from the stack with narrowed eyes. 

He hadn't told Mr. Holmes he was from Haringey. That raised the hairs on the back of his neck more than his comment about the tea. Sure, MI5 would know where he was from, probably would know his marks back through first year, but Mr. Holmes hadn't known him until the moment he walked in. "How did you I'm from Haringey?"

"Observation." When Lestrade continued to stare at him with marked discomfort, Holmes sat back in his chair and began to present the evidence. It was time for the second test. "You have signs of the London accent, but softened into Estuary English, which means you've taken some elocution lessons to temper it - no doubt under the perception that class biases may play a part in limiting your progression in your career of choice. Working in law enforcement, one has to have an ability to make all sorts of people willing to talk to you while still giving professional reports and press releases, and having an accent associated with the working class still carries an unfortunate connotation that one is incompetent and lacks intellect. When you pocketed the badge you were given, there was a ticket stub for the latest Spurs match. Possibly coincidence, but for the fact of your socks. The Spur's home colors and simplified crest, which means you follow Football and have an investment in the team to be wearing a small representation of their kit. Marked investment - they're well known for working with the Haringey Council and Metropolitan Housing Trust for developing local sports facilities and social programmes for youth." 

Mr. Holmes took in Lestrade's look of open-mouthed shock and smiled gently. "Do you need me to continue, Mr. Lestrade?"

"Holy shit." The shell-shocked teenager blinked, still holding his tea in midair. "I mean," he tried to catch himself and correct his language, "that was… _what?_ You just… _my socks?_ " Greg's dark brows drew together as he tried to work out if there was some way Mr. Holmes could have known all that before now and laid insignificant details out there as an elaborate trick. The more he wracked his brain the more he couldn't see how the man could have possibly had the time. Still, Greg tilted his head warily and considered the poised man before him, just waiting for Greg to acknowledge his astounding powers of deduction. 

Feeling more than a little flabbergasted, and a little defensive over the mention of his home ground being something he might want to hide, Greg finally came to a conclusion. "Alright. Well. Now that you know my life's ambitions, the color of my socks, and my favorite football team, let me just ask: is any of that going to be a problem?"

"Not at all, provided you set aside whatever perceived issues you have with me." Holmes leaned back in his chair and regarded Lestrade with a wary eye. "Your heart is in the right place for this sort of work, and you have dedication, or you wouldn't have landed this opportunity. What remains to be seen is what skills you already have, how quickly you learn, and how well you work with others."

Holmes' gaze drifted briefly before settling once more on Lestrade's face. "I'm aware that all you focused on, from the moment you walked in, was my clothing and accent. If you can look past that, then we can work together."

Mrs. Perden's words echoed in the back of Greg's head while he bit his tongue and nodded. He could work with this man if he _would_ actually be working. Greg hadn't meant for his doubts about their backgrounds to come out in the open like that, but he'd felt a bit baited by Mr. Holmes' 'observations'. 

"Won't be a problem." Greg rocked on his heels. Mr. Holmes' serene stare was unnerving in the way that he didn't move at all while affecting a perfectly pleasant air. Greg needed to make peace now, and look for a way out when he could find the opportunity. 

Holmes tilted his head, reminiscent of an owl, and seemed to stare through Lestrade for a moment. "It's to track down black market smugglers," he offered. When Greg returned his stare blankly, his mouth narrowed in polite impatience. "Why I'm having you check the bills of lading and order logs. When I know what disappeared, how much, and when, it will be easier to determine who was responsible and shut down operations."

He pushed the undrinkable mug of tea aside. "I realize you prefer to know why you're working on a particular task. I won't always have the time and ability to explain my reasoning to you, but..." After a minute hesitation, Holmes seemed to come to a decision. "I'll attempt it if we have time. You're going to have to learn to trust me and be more comfortable working without having all the pieces in hand. It's one of the features of the career track."

Greg pulled up a chair, feeling every bit of his inexperience keenly in Holmes' words. Still, he accepted the olive branch with a tight smile, took a long sip from his much more palatable mug, and rolled over to the file folders. The size of them was intimidating, but he quickly figured out which were shipping orders and which were receipts and pulled two binders at a time onto his lap. When he ran into the discrepancies he was looking for, he found a spare notebook and some sticky notes and began to mark them down.

Holmes turned back to his own work in silence, methodically digging through folders and, every now and again, typing up a storm at the terminal in front of him. Gradually the tension in the atmosphere began to disperse; both of them were absorbed in their tasks, and Holmes was letting the young intern take a crack at things without the expected needling and puffery about rank. That said, there was no small talk either; it was unclear whether Holmes thought it pointless and counterproductive to try to socialize with Greg when there was work to be done, or whether he was simply unaccustomed to casual interaction.

For the first hour or so, Greg didn't appear to mind. His tea quickly depleted until only an empty cup remained. When his leg got a cramp, he propped his ankle on his knee to hold the binders. When that one got a cramp, he switched to the other. Mr. Holmes was so very still throughout that Greg began to sneak glances at his profile every now and again. He never saw the man move more than his arms or his torso, only the bare minimum to pull whatever document he needed and compare it to his monitor. Most of the time, he moved only his fingers while brightly lit strings of text rained down in front of him. He could have been a robot. One made of porcelain, with a doll's hair and faintly brushed rosy cheeks. Greg looked back down to his notebook abruptly. 

Mr. Holmes froze for a long moment. "...perhaps a small reprieve is in order." Lestrade didn't seem the type to sit still for long periods of time, and his fidgeting and attempts at discreet observation were proving to be distractions. Holmes stood smoothly and took a set of keys out of his pocket. "I'm not supposed to let you wander too far unaccompanied, for security reasons. That said, there's no reason you can't have a look around with company." He gestured for Greg to leave the office ahead of him and then locked the door behind them.

Greg was staring at him unabashedly now, surprised that Holmes was offering a tour and not afraid to show it. "I don't suppose you could show me every department, could you? Or even most of them?" he ventured, cautionary hope rising in his tone. Apart from his trick of deduction, Holmes had remained quiet and reserved, but experience with a few select well-to-do know-it-alls in his past years at school told him to be wary of letting one such individual sit him down and explain…anything, really. His imagination had no trouble envisioning Holmes pontificating over Greg's head about this or that. He just fit the part so very well. Not wanting to get into another confrontation on his first day, Greg tried to keep it to himself.

"I don't have access to everything, but I can show you the ones I can get to," Holmes offered. There was a soft uncertainty in his tone, as if he was offering an olive branch and thought his hand might get bitten. "You're mostly going to be doing analyst work with me, but I might be able to get an officer or two to come talk to you when they have a moment." He started leading them down the hallway. When Greg continued to stare, a slight flush of color crept across his face. "...why do you find this so surprising?"

The young man's face split into a bemused grin. He caught up quickly. "Just, that's very nice of you." And apparently unexpected. "I'm not too…unauthorized to see these places?" This time his smile wasn't forced. 

Truthfully it wasn't just Mr. Holmes who'd been a stickler on the details, toeing the secrets line as expected. And Greg did expect that. From his very first interviews to the calls he'd taken beforehand, the absence of details in the internship had been obvious. There was just something about Mr. Holmes that had put him off a little more than usual right from the start. He thought, half still wary and half embarrassed, that it might have been exactly as Holmes had said; he saw the clothes and the accent and the new position and Greg thought he'd had him figured out. 

The smile Greg got in return was just as genuine, if a little ghostly and shy. "Not too unauthorized to see the places I have access to, at any rate. I'm sure objections would be voiced if I let you look at the servers and actual documents, but your background checked out enough that just touring the rooms should be fine."

They rounded another corner and came to a secured lift. Mr. Holmes had to swipe an access badge just to get the doors to open. "Digital intelligence is upstairs. Not _quite_ field work, but it's still active investigation and data gathering instead of analysis."

" _Alright_." Now Greg was excited. Holmes may have been right, but it was by far the most quickly growing department in the business, at least as far as Greg understood. Though his dreams may lay in Bond style action and adventure, Digital Intelligence sounded like it was right up that alley. Glancing at Mr. Holmes' diligent focus on their destination, Greg couldn't help a stab at humor. "Tell me they have shoe-phones." 

Holmes arched an eyebrow at Greg. "...that would be MI6, and I certainly hope they have something better than shoe-phones." The lift chimed and opened onto a hallway much like the one they'd left. "I wouldn't toss too many Bond references out. A lot of people here got sick of them years ago. It's a good way to volunteer yourself to be targeted for a prank. So, for that matter, is referring to anyone as being a secret squirrel," he added. "The last person who did so found their personal locker stuffed full of packets of nuts on a routine basis for two weeks."

"O- _kay_ ," Greg said a little uneasily. It was impossible to tell whether Holmes was joking or not. Probably not. 

Their first destination was just through the double doors at the end of the hall. Holmes led with Greg only a step behind him. In spite of his folly with humor, Greg wasn't fazed. He hadn't expected Holmes would appreciate it anyway, and he wasn't particularly sure why he'd tried for that matter. But he put it out of his head when they walked through rows of terminals. Workers were stationed at most. There seemed to be several sections for one type of work or another, but at a glance Greg couldn't tell what. 

Holmes glanced at Lestrade, noticing his curiosity and slightly dampened spirits. "Digital Intelligence is broken up into various teams. Counter-espionage, domestic, routing things downstairs to translation services, compiling reports that get sent to analysis." Greg took this information in stride as they made a circuit of the room. "Files get information added to them all the time, but only 10% of the ones regarding British citizens are actually active and easily gotten to. The rest won't even allow enquiries."

Greg glanced up to Mr. Holmes at that. If that was any indication on the amount of secrets this building contained, it was a significant one. They walked through the outer row of desks. Here they occasionally did get glances, and Greg was sure it was because of him. The amount of activity in general reminded him of a bee hive. A very silent, very efficient one. 

"If you're not interested in the foreign language analysis, we can stop by mobile surveillance next. They can be a _bit_ more talkative." Greg seemed unnerved by the quiet; Holmes thought perhaps he was expecting something more like the bustle of the Met, or the excitement of MI6 as viewed through the cinema screen. "Nobody has much downtime, but mobile occasionally sends me cropped photos of places from unusual angles to see if I can guess where and what I'm looking at. They haven't stumped me yet."

Greg's eyes widened at him. "You're completely serious about that observation trick, aren't you?" He caught Holmes' grey eyes glancing to him in return while they walked. They met for only a moment. "Do you have an eidetic memory, is that it?" He'd read that the brain functioned like a recorder in some cases, but he supposed that if Holmes had been able to put as much information as he possibly could in his mind, the trick of observation might work more like… recalling information from a database. 

"I have that as well, but observation and deduction are just learned skills. Information gathering and generating theories. Good memory just helps in connecting all the dots later on to prove which possibility is the correct one." Holmes caught Greg glancing at him again out of the corner of his eye, and the shy smile reappeared on his lips. "You're not the only one who's puzzled by it. My manager is routinely infuriated about being shown up. He's convinced it's a party trick and I'm only doing things to embarrass him."

Somehow Holmes managed to say that without sounding like a complete arse, leaving Greg caught in a state between a half smile and an expression of sheer befuddlement. He wasn't exactly turning out like Greg had expected on first impression. After a moment, Greg laughed. "I'll have to see that sometime." 

Holmes' uneasy smile melted into something more sincere as it became clear that Greg was laughing with him, not at him. He looked considerably different when he wasn't coldly detached - softer, somehow. "You'll get your chance. Thomas has a fit nearly once a week." Holmes gave Lestrade an appraising look as they walked. "...I'm Mycroft, by the way. Once you've been in the office a couple of days, you'll get on first name basis with nearly everyone. Last names are just a formality for visitors."

Greg's brows rose - Mycroft's parents must have been quite something to name their son that - but he nodded along. If it had been Greg, he would have definitely gone by 'Myc' and never spoken of it again. "Mycroft it is then." 

Mycroft Holmes. His piercing stare wasn't so bad when he warmed up a little. Greg smiled to himself as they walked. 

"Think you can get Mobile to show us anything interesting?" Greg asked when they stopped at the next department. He'd been keenly interested in the last, but it was difficult to see what was really going on when Mycroft had them keep their distance. 

"I know I can. I'm very persuasive when I put my mind to it, and Mobile owes me a couple of favors." Mycroft actually grinned for a moment before they stepped into the lift again, this time heading down. "How interesting it will be depends on how interesting the week's been. London always has crime, but some weeks are more eventful than others."

A widening grin found its way onto Greg's face. Excitement bubbled within him at the prospect of seeing crime and containment in action, and Mycroft seemed to know exactly what to say to him. Greg only hoped his high expectations panned out as his new supervisor swung open the door marked Mobile Surveillance with a grand gesture. Greg looked over the taller man’s shoulder. 

The office was at least as big as the last, with several rooms along the back wall. Most of its space, however, was filled with monitoring stations, screens, and telephones. It was definitely not as quiet as Digital had been.

A number of the workers were crowded around one station in particular, huddled close together and peering at the same sets of screens. One woman glanced up as they moved closer. "Myc, get _over_ here," she hissed. Mycroft's smile slipped out of place and he hurried over to join the throng.

"Listen, I know this isn't your division, but we could really use a hand with this. We've been hauling ass for the last couple of hours trying to get a lead, and the Met is getting impatient." The woman tapped on a mouse, and a video began to play on one of the screens. Mycroft was instantly absorbed in the footage. "Normal bank robbery, except it goes wrong about three minutes in. One of them lost it and fired into the crowd. Two dead, three others wounded, and the bank security just _happened_ to glitch out at the worst possible moment. Which means we've got hardly anything to go on and the Met's wheels are spinning on where to start the search."

"I'm assuming you've already started pulling CCTV footage from the surrounding area?" She nodded. "Right," Mycroft sighed. "Send me everything you've got. This, both raw footage and cleaned up as best you can, everything you get from CCTV, witness statements from the Met. I need to know how much money they got away with, what the bill markings were if they were sequential. I'll also need you to call traffic and have them get me the timing schedule for the signals surrounding the bank in a two kilometer radius." 

His gaze slid sideways to Lestrade. "...and Jill, can you put in a request with building services to get Gregory a limited-access laptop? He's working with me and we'll need it."

She looked at Greg who was staring over Mycroft's shoulder and did a bit of a double take, but didn't otherwise comment. It did at least snap Greg back to himself, remembering to wipe the wide-eyed look off his face. It seemed Holmes was about to trust his skills after all and he needed to be serious about this. 

When the woman broke from the small crowd along with a few others to gather the requested laptop and data, Greg straightened, squaring his shoulders. His pulse was racing. "Where can we set up?"

Mycroft's gaze skimmed the room, finally settling on a desk with an unoccupied terminal. "There. Get your laptop plugged in and go make us tea. We're going to be here awhile. I'll start sorting the footage for us to go through." The ginger was already slipping back into a monotone, more focused on his own thoughts than the world around him. He slipped into a chair in front of the desktop and signed in. "No sugar this time, please."

"Right." Greg didn't need to be told twice this time. He turned and quickly swept after Jill, who was already pulling out a large laptop with a pile of cords for him to take. In the short time it took to set it up, Mycroft had already become one with his monitor. Greg caught only his cool grey eyes darting back and forth between rows of data and images on the screen before he set off for the break room with a quick step. 

Mycroft was so engaged that, when Greg returned, he wasn't quite sure the man even noticed. That was, until his hand moved sideways without looking and scooted his tea mug closer to his own keyboard. "Log onto your laptop and look in your network documents folder. I've sent you cleaned screenshots of the culprits and a few video files. Based on traffic flow and the hurry they were in, the number of routes they would have taken is limited, so we merely have to find the right feed. We'll have the vehicle and direction then."

Greg nodded wildly and fixed his attention on his own monitor. They had a map of the city and surrounding boroughs, indicating which feed was taken from where. It took some time for Greg to get the hang of it - not just looking through feeds, scrubbing back and forth for the frame of time the robbery occurred and after, hoping to get a match on the vehicle description or something out of the ordinary, but also checking and rechecking the ones he'd already been through. They were on the move and there was no telling where they were yet, or if they'd now passed a camera he and Mycroft had already checked. Beside him, Mycroft worked at double, nearly triple the pace. 

Mycroft was the first to spot the van, even though in the feed it came from it was behaving like any other car on the street. His eye for detail caught men that matched the robbery stills, and after a while longer they were able to catch them again on a second feed. Hours of unblinking focus later, they had two more sightings, creating a definite trajectory line. Mycroft showed Greg a database of convicts within the surrounding area and they went through them methodically, constantly revising whenever another sighting occurred and looking for facial matches and places of residence. 

After a while, Greg finally neared half of Mycroft's pace. 

They eventually narrowed the list of suspects down to a manageable handful. Mycroft had Greg compile the video feeds and screenshots they'd used to whittle the list down while he copied the relevant files from the database. By this time the room had thinned out considerably, but after several hours they had a sizeable packet of information to send to the Met investigators. 

Mycroft seemed to slowly wake from his intense focus after they delivered the encrypted CDs into the hands of a secure courier. He took a deep breath. "...well. Enough excitement for your first day?"

"Yeah, I'll say." Greg leaned back as far as his swivel chair would allow and ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten progressively more unkempt as the hours went by. It was one of his unconscious habits to pull his fingers through it whenever he couldn't figure something out, raking it back and forth until he could move forward again in his work. He didn't seem to realize how much it stood on end by the time they were done. Mycroft, by contrast, was still as pristine as ever. Greg licked his lips and turned his chair. "Is there anything to eat in the cafeteria? I'm starved." 

Mycroft hesitated for a beat, momentarily distracted by Greg's hands and the tongue that had swiped across his lips. "...oh. Yes, a lot of us work odd hours, so the cafeteria never really closes. There are just fewer options late in the evening." Tidy as he looked, Mycroft still flinched as he got to his feet and cramped muscles made their displeasure known. He gestured and led Greg back toward the lift.

Though Greg was increasingly aware of the other man's presence, there was an awkward moment when the doors chimed and Holmes waited to allow him in first and Greg had the same idea. He stepped in after a pause and Mycroft followed. 

Greg couldn't be certain, but he got the distinct impression of a smile hidden somewhere under that perpetually congenial demeanor. Even if it was at Greg's expense. The teen cleared his throat as the doors closed. "So uh, what's good in the cafeteria?"

"Most everything is passable. Little of it is actually 'good'," Mycroft replied with a sigh. "This time of the night, most of the kitchen will be closed. Sometimes that works to one's advantage and you can convince the staff to fix you something different. Most of the time what it means is that you're stuck with sandwiches or one of the soups." 

The lift doors opened on the ground floor, and after Greg stepped out Mycroft took the lead again. The cafeteria was dark and fairly deserted. True to Mycroft's prediction, nobody was present in the kitchen proper, but a few tureens were steaming at one station and a refrigerator case was full of sandwiches in transparent wrappers. The only staff member in sight was one bored man lounging near the registers.

Greg was stepping in when he felt the skin prickle at the back of his neck. The room was eerily quiet and even with Holmes just in front of him and a server hiding in the far corner, it felt eerily isolated. He wondered if they really had stayed as late as he thought it was.

Mycroft, however, was unaffected, walking up to the buffet while Greg glanced around. It was impossible not to be very and suddenly hyperaware of one another, and though Greg had spent the entire day working beside Mycroft, he could feel his palms getting clammy. He really didn't know what to do now that they were alone, and Holmes was making him more nervous than was warranted. Greg stepped up to look over the remaining sandwiches, pretending he felt as normal as he had just two minutes prior. 

It was foolish to expect that a man like Mycroft, who was keen enough to pick suspects out in tiny, grainy videos and who could read the past in one's choice of socks, would miss such a mood change in someone right beside him. 

Mycroft watched Greg out of the corner of his eye, wondering precisely why his partner suddenly gave the impression that he was ready to bolt. The ginger licked his lips and carefully stepped closer, reaching past Greg for one of the sandwiches. "Excuse me. Go ahead and pick what you'd like. It'll be my treat today. You did very well for your first day and having no prior experience."

Greg straightened, freezing with his attention fixed on the arm in front of him. Every fiber of his being was focused on the man beside him and Greg fought to keep his eyes riveted to the sandwiches instead. 

With a subtle sense of apprehension, realization began to creep up on the young man. He'd noticed it all day, in small ways, but it hadn't broken through his consciousness until just now, when they were alone and when he wasn't thinking about the new job. Mycroft’s proximity, finally, _finally_ selecting the sandwich he wanted and drawing his arm back, was making his blood race. 

Greg didn't dare look at Mycroft. He'd already been staring at the sandwiches for far too long. "Um, I shouldn't, I mean thank you. That's very kind of you." Greg grabbed the chicken pesto, forcing his brain back into speech. Boldly, he glanced up and met Mycroft's gaze. "I'm glad you think so." 

Mycroft's smile was certainly knowing and amused, but not mocking. If anything, he seemed quietly pleased. "I can't promise we'll have such excitement every day, but we get a bit of variety. You'll have a good amount of experience under your belt by the time you leave." Greg only flushed redder at the colloquialism, and Mycroft's smile deepened for a split second before he left to grab a bottle of water from another display.

When his back was turned, Greg swallowed and quickly tried to compose himself. This was inappropriate. _At the very least._ If he let his eyes follow the paths of Mycroft's long, almost delicate, hands while he moved, watch the way the curl in his hair fell over his forehead when he was bent in concentration, or the strange physicality of his presence alone, just standing next to Greg and all but hovering over him, it was only asking for trouble. Everything coalescing in his chest was pushed firmly down to the pit of his stomach while he turned on his heel, facing Mycroft again. 

"I look forward to it," Greg said without inflection, determined to say the words without acknowledgement of any hidden nuances therein. He picked up a soda from the tray and followed Mycroft to the register. 

The remaining attendant rang them up without comment, and they had their choice of seating in the empty hall. Mycroft picked a table at random and settled down, focusing on his own turkey sandwich instead of the figure seated across from him. "So. Aside from your emotional investment in football and your desire to make a difference with law enforcement, what are your other interests?"

"Well…." Greg had been about to say something about his friends, about the Friday nights they spent in the field at school or the park _playing_ football, about the ramp they were building to jump their bikes on, or about the car he wanted to get to replace his rust bucket, but the words died in his mouth the moment he realized just how childish these things would make him seem to someone like Mycroft, even if Greg guessed they couldn't be more than a handful of years apart. In fact, unless the aristocratic air was all an act, Mycroft had probably _never_ done those things. So Greg's tone wavered and fell into a vague shrug. "You know…just hanging out with friends and the usual."

“I don't, actually. What's considered 'usual' can vary quite a bit from person to person." Mycroft bit into his sandwich to hide his own twinge of nervousness. He could read bits and pieces of the young man across from him, and what he could see had piqued his interest, but at the same time he was painfully aware of the differences between them. It wasn't merely the class differences that had made Lestrade defensive immediately after their introduction - Greg's interests and life experiences would likely prove to be vastly different, which would leave little in common for them to base a friendship upon.

"Yeah…" That was pretty much what Greg was afraid of, but that little fluttery feeling inside of him took hold again and didn't let him leave it at that, not when Mycroft was peering at him like he was. "I like playing football. Like playing rugby. I like playing almost anything if the game's good. I like being outdoors. Camping, if it's with a group of friends." Greg shot a half smile and shrug across the table, knowing it was all very general, and then tried to ask casually, "What do you…do…for fun?"

Mycroft froze for a second, quickly covering up his discomfort with a polite smile. "I read quite a bit. Go to the symphony, various museums. I used to be able to escape to the coast every once in awhile, but work has kept me tied to London lately." Swallowing down his disappointment was difficult. Lestrade appeared to be his complete opposite, which didn't bode well for finding the commonalities that friendship required.

Still, the young man looked like he was at least trying to express interest. Greg was nodding, eyebrows raised, following along and all the while looking like he'd come to the same conclusion and couldn't think of a single thing to say. He cleared his throat and took a sip of soda. "Well…they must keep you pretty busy around here, huh?" Greg laughed but it caught in his throat when he noticed the way Mycroft had placed his hands over one another with perfect elegance and had leaned forward with that damnably placid look about him, as though he wasn't hiding his own disappointment with Greg. 

"Very." Mycroft's gaze hadn't wavered, fixed on Greg despite the shift in topic. "I'm here late most nights. Not that I'm _required_ to be, technically," he added. "There's just so much to be done. Some days there doesn't seem to be much point in going home."

Mycroft blinked, then appeared to realize how bad that had sounded. "...not that I don't have other interests, but novels pale when I think about the difference I could be making. I'm not at a point yet where I can affect much, but I hope to get there someday."

A real smile spread across Greg's face. That, he could respect, which allowed him enough calm to fold his hands together and lean back in his chair, trying to relax. "I'd very much like to say the same someday." They did have one thing in common after all, and naturally the conversation gravitated back toward it. The job. Here, Greg was genuinely enthusiastic. "I don't want to go and get all sappy on you, saying I'd like to go out there and get in the thick of it, but… there you have it." 

"It seems like it would suit you," Mycroft agreed. Lestrade's grin was absorbed like a ray of sunlight, then tucked away in the archive of his mind for safekeeping. "I don't think a desk job would satisfy you, even if criminal investigations played a part of it. I prefer something more in line with what we accomplished today: finding all the missing pieces, then guiding the proper authorities right where they need to be to solve the situation."

It was true. Though Greg had managed the sorting of receipts and video logs well enough, they had also been his first tasks on his first day and he'd been determined to stay put and stay focused. 

"I've got to admit I haven't imagined myself behind a desk very often," Greg shrugged with a degree of awareness that he was admitting such to his new supervisor. "But then again I haven't seen all of what's out there, either." The half smile remained on his face.

Mycroft's eyes were warm again, Greg was sure he wasn't just imagining it. 

"Not nearly all of it, which was one of the reasons I tried to give you a tour earlier: so you could see how some of the other departments work. The derailment into a real case was just fortuitous happenstance." Mycroft finished the last of his sandwich and eyed Greg thoughtfully. "Still, don't bank all your hopes on getting a job without desk time. Even if you land a spot in MI6 or the Met, it won't be action all of the time. Even detectives have to do research and slog through paperwork."

"Yeah, yeah I know," Greg pulled a reluctant half smile. "But if I could work with real cases even half the time I think I'd be satisfied." 

Only wrappers were left between them, but Greg found himself sliding his soda can back and forth across the table from one hand to the other, not wanting the conversation to end. As many pitfalls as it had, talk with Mycroft Holmes was pulling Greg in. He'd turned out to be quite mild mannered in spite of Greg’s first impressions and, perhaps due to his keenness with observation, Greg was fast beginning to get the sense that there was more to him than was immediately obvious. 

"Well." Mycroft seemed at an equal loss, reluctant to end the conversation but uncertain of what to say. "It's quite late for an apprentice to be here. You should go home and get some rest. I'm assuming you have safe transportation back?" he asked. Taxis weren't difficult to catch near the office, and there was always the Underground, but Central London could be a dangerous place at night even with the CCTV cameras monitoring the streets.

"I'll catch the tube. I'm used to it," Greg shrugged. If he noticed Holmes' hesitance to let the conversation end, he didn't show it. The soda can halted its endless journey back and forth between his hands and Greg sighed with perhaps a little too much gusto. "Alright," he said, climbing to his feet. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, same time tomorrow," Mycroft agreed and stood. "Take care and have a good night, Gregory." Mycroft gathered up and binned the remaining rubbish, then turned and walked back to the lift bank. Lingering wouldn't do; this late, Lestrade couldn't wander into a restricted area on his own, and Mycroft had work to do.

"Hey!" Lestrade's voice rang after him down the hall. When Mycroft turned to look, the young man was standing at the table, just waiting to catch his attention. He grinned. "It's Greg." 

Greg waved as the lift opened behind Mycroft before tossing his own rubbish and heading for the exit. In spite of the long day's work, Greg was still smiling to himself. Still had a spring in his step, even.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. Lestrade had arrived promptly the next morning to find Mycroft Holmes already present and hard at work. He'd once again immediately sent Greg off for tea before assigning the tasks of the day, and it took a few careful glances before Greg noticed the shadows under the man's eyes that hadn't been present the previous day.

Careful questioning around the office revealed that Mycroft made a habit of staying late and working long hours, sometimes to the point of provoking resentment from his coworkers. No one liked being shown up or made to look lazy in comparison, but nothing much could be done about it - Mycroft was a valuable ally to have, and impeccably polite. No one quite knew how to deal with a man who was so obviously out of place, so they didn't. People interacted with Mycroft when they needed a favor or were directly approached, but the rest of the time a bubble of solitude surrounded the ginger.

Greg, however, was finding himself to be the one exception to the general attitude. 

Perhaps it was because he worked with the man side by side every day that Holmes' constant politeness and seemingly uninteresting personal life should make him more and more curious. Although, he could tell he wasn't the only one in the office who thought so. He caught Mrs. Perden and one of the other ladies chatting about his supervisor once in the break room, but he kept his own speculations to himself. 

It was the kind of curiosity that grew like a seed inside him with every peculiarity he noticed in the man. 

There was also the small matter that he was coming to think of Mycroft as…very attractive. At first Greg had passed it off as an odd part of the mystery that surrounded Mr. Holmes, but he began to notice it more and more each day. 

That, he _definitely_ kept to himself. 

Occasionally, when he could get away with it, he asked Mycroft about his personal life. Similar to how it had gone that first day, he didn't manage to get much out of the man. 

It didn't take long before Greg asked to stay late himself. 

Mycroft blinked in surprise at the request. "You can certainly stay and help me if you wish, Greg, but I'm afraid it won't be anything terribly thrilling. More database work, mostly." Pale eyes scanned over Greg's face curiously before a strange light entered them. Greg's friendliness after their tense first day was both welcome and suspect. 

"I don't mind." Mycroft was treated to a bright smile in return. Greg might have noticed his scrutiny, but he didn't say anything. The clock was winding down already, and he once again stowed his backpack in the corner cabinet where he'd taken to keeping it in Mycroft's office while he worked. He went to refill their mugs, bringing back two steaming cups. Mycroft accepted the offered mug with grace.

Greg settled back in his makeshift workstation beside Mycroft's desk. He'd angled it to the side a bit more since he'd first set it up. Gradually, Greg's chair turned until he was at a roughly 45 degree angle to Mr. Holmes' desk. The only thing this seemed to lead to was a frequent shifting of Greg's gaze towards Mycroft’s profile.

It took Mycroft some effort to keep from glancing at the young man beside him in constant distraction. It was easy to slip into a work trance when the office was full and bustling during the day. As the minutes ticked by, Mycroft found that his attention was increasingly on Greg and the small noises he made as he worked, rather than the coding project Mycroft had decided to take on.

"...it's nice to have company, for once," Mycroft ventured.

Several times he'd caught Greg watching him, and once or twice Greg might have caught him in return. It showed in the subtle flush that spread across the young man's cheeks and the way his back straightened in the chair, but he remained silent as ever. 

If Greg were trying to prove something by staying this late, his determination was admirable. Or so he would have liked to think. Because sitting alone in a room with Mycroft Holmes, and knowing that as the hours crept by nearly everyone else in the office had left, was a serious test in self control. Greg was only beginning to understand that he _needed_ such control while in the other man's presence. The way Mycroft stared with narrowed gaze at his screen while his fingers flew over the keys was nothing short of breathtaking. Greg would have likened him to a hawk, poised and ready to strike, fishing out nonfunctional elements in a sea of markup. His hands were far too elegant for the keyboard, and they became a focal point for Greg's fixation. 

"Piano," Mycroft stated. He saw Greg stiffen out of the corner of his gaze and smiled, still staring at his monitor. "I play piano, when I have the time." Mycroft finished up the last few lines of code before turning to face Greg. 

"You're making it incredibly difficult for me to concentrate, which is an impressive feat in and of itself." Mycroft took in the way Greg reddened and averted his eyes upon being caught looking yet again. "You have questions. Go ahead and ask."

Greg shifted uncomfortably, eyes glancing back and forth between Mycroft and the work in front of him. As if Mycroft's attention wasn't already firmly on him. "Well I…" Greg ran a hand through his hair. For a moment he felt like it was entirely possible the man was reading his mind. Although he was incredibly curious about Mycroft, he didn't really have _questions_ per se. He was, in all likelihood, developing a crush. And it was really, terribly inconvenient for him. He supposed he could only be thankful that Mycroft, if he were able to read Greg's mind, had phrased it so innocently. 

Greg decided to run with it. "I guess I'm just curious. I mean, you spend all your time here. And I know that's important. I know that's how you've, well… how you've come so far so fast," Greg sped through his words quickly, hating that it sounded like he were brown nosing. "But that just makes me wonder…what drives you, I suppose. Because I don't think it's playing piano." 

Mycroft actually laughed at that; the sound was far warmer and more human than his coworkers might have expected. "No, it's not piano," he agreed. "In all honesty, my motivations aren't entirely selfless. I get... bored, I suppose is the right word for it. I need something challenging to stay occupied, and this line of work just fit in all the right ways. There's a different challenge every week, I get to play to my strengths, and I get to affect real changes. All with minimum legwork, which suits my preferences just fine." 

"Minimum leg work? Are you serious?" It was Greg's turn to laugh then. The spell broke and suddenly he found himself staring with open bemusement at the older man. Mycroft knew very well that was the kind of work Greg idealized, and he must have seen his incredulity coming from a mile away. Still, it got Greg to relax, just enough for him to lean back in his chair and stretch. With Mycroft's open and positive response, he was feeling pretty good about himself. "Don't you ever get out? Run around? Have fun?"

It was Mycroft's turn to flush with embarrassment and avert his gaze, but not before it trailed down the trim lines of Greg's outstretched form. "Not... really, no," he admitted. "My brother used to drag me outside quite a bit when I still lived at home, but I haven't really found a reason to go out since I've gotten my own place, other than to go to the Philharmonic every once in a while."

Greg raised an eyebrow. He didn't particularly want to go to the Philharmonic. He _did_ want to spend more time around this man. Just watching him was nearly enough. Greg barely understood what was so enthralling about him. They didn't have a thing in common, and yet Greg went home every night with nothing but Mycroft on his mind, poised like an ivory statue, seared into the back of his eyelids. 

Greg grasped at straws, but found one, flimsy as it was. "Where did your brother drag you to?"

"Everywhere. Sherlock was always much more interested in running around in the woods behind our house. Or having me take him to the school laboratory to show him interesting things he wasn't permitted to try yet. Just _everywhere_. He was never content to read about something if there was a way he could see it or do it in person." Mycroft caught Greg's look of incredulity and gave him a sheepish smile. "Mycroft and Sherlock are old family names," he explained.

"Oh." Greg nodded like he understood. It was clear he didn't. Brief fancies entered his mind of inviting Mycroft out - to football, to the pub he and his friends had snuck into until the majority of them turned 18, to anywhere really - but when he opened his mouth hoping something would come to him, something that didn't sound as ridiculous as it did in his head, nothing came out at all. In every scenario, he clearly saw Mycroft turning him down. He scowled at himself for lack of ideas. It was already far too late to do anything but go home anyway, and he would have a long and tiring journey at this hour, but if it wasn't spur of the moment, Mycroft would have ample time to back out of it if only for the sake of propriety. 

Mycroft tilted his head and regarded Greg with curiosity. Discreet as Greg was trying to be, the ginger could discern some of his thoughts without difficulty. Mycroft's pulse raced as he absorbed the full implications and weighed his options. "I..." His words came out barely above a whisper, so he coughed and tried again. "I would say yes, but for the fact that it might cause complications, given the fact that I'm your supervisor for the moment."

Greg blushed fiercely but gave a smile anyway, trying to pass it off with a blasé air. He kicked back his chair for good measure. "Yeah, yeah, no. I mean. I thought as much." Even as embarrassment coiled in Greg's gut, the possibility that Mycroft wasn't just being polite when he said he would have accepted was a little a ray of light. Greg looked at him, trying to summon forth the telling signs Mycroft seemed to see whenever he made casual deductions, but he couldn't figure out the cues behind the man's pleasantly warm demeanor. He was so good at putting on that face, Greg couldn't tell if it were real. The not so pleasant reminder of his internship was, however, very real. "I, uh, I better be off or I'll be waiting another hour for the train."

Mycroft hesitated, torn enough that his conflicting thoughts bled into his expression. Commonalities or no, it was quite rare for anyone he found attractive to return the interest, much less for them to show few signs of being intimidated. He'd observed Greg enough over the past few days to be able to make a few educated guesses about who Greg really was deep down, and it had only made the young man all the more attractive. "I could drive you home, if you'd like. It's not an imposition, really."

Greg looked up. Mycroft's expression hadn't changed, subtle and pleasant as always, but he was watching Greg intently. That was something. Greg's lips parted, wishing he could read _anything_ from the other man. 

"If…it's really no trouble." Greg felt a smile raise the corner of his lip, his expression opening up again after having been turned down the first time. 

"Not at all." Worry tinged Mycroft's features as he swallowed and admitted softly, "I'm in Islington, so it's really not that much farther. I hope you won't begrudge my curiosity in finding your address." Mycroft had no idea how Greg might react to such an intrusion. There was a chance that he'd be flattered by Mycroft's interest, but there was an equal chance that he could find his curiosity to be creepy, or perhaps be embarrassed about what his living arrangements said about his family's financial status.

"Oh!" Greg's eyebrows shot up, realizing he'd need it and Greg hadn't thought to offer right away. "It's Haringey, like you said, just north of Finsbury park off Whittman. I can get us there no trouble." Greg was a little flustered. It was a natural response to Mycroft's own hesitation. He tried to shake it off anyway. Mycroft could already read him, and they'd already been over the difference between Greg's neighborhood and his. As he rose to his feet, he ultimately decided that only good could come of Mycroft taking him home. 

And then Mycroft clarified.

"I know. I... meant that I already knew your address," Mycroft explained as he locked his terminal for the night and stood. He flushed as Greg turned to look at him. "I had already correctly deduced Haringey, and you piqued my curiosity. I didn't mean anything untoward by it."  
Greg really did look at him then, eyebrows raised even farther. " _Oh_." 

Greg hadn't expected that. At all. And he wasn't sure how to take it. On one hand, it was flattering and exciting. On the other, he wasn't sure what Mycroft meant by not doing it for 'untoward' reasons. Greg had a strong suspicion his own reasons for taking up the man's offer were dangerously nearing the line between decent and ‘untoward’. 

When Mycroft paused for him, he gave a half shrug and caught up, deciding it didn't matter. "I'm flattered."

The smile Mycroft gave Greg was almost _painfully_ shy. Despite being the older of the two of them, Mycroft didn't seem to be the more confident one. Whatever expertise he had in other areas didn't extend to navigating the realm of emotions. "I'm glad you feel that way. Give me a moment and we'll be off."

Personal belongings collected, Mycroft ushered Greg out the door and locked things up behind them. 

Greg found himself smiling as they moved. Mycroft was no girl. He wasn't even like any bloke Greg knew. This territory he was unfamiliar with, but he at least wasn't entirely out of his depth. Strange how the older man's shyness sparked something bold in Greg. He kept up and walked a little too close, looking for any cues in the taller man's body language he could pick up on. "Where's your car?"

"Down below in the secured garage." Mycroft guided them into the lift and pressed the button that would take them down to the proper floor. Greg's unusually close proximity had Mycroft on high alert, watching him out of the corner of his eye. His woolen overcoat suddenly felt too warm.

The lift doors opened onto a well-lit space filled with row after row of sleek metallic bodies. Once Mycroft slowed, it didn't take a genius to spot which vehicle had to be his - the car looked exactly like something a posh spook would own, right down to the black leather interior and gleaming chrome. Mycroft actually walked around to the passenger side to politely open the door for Greg.

Greg's smirk only widened, and though his pulse was racing he managed to direct it at Mycroft with relative ease. The overly considerate gesture on Mycroft's part made it that much smoother.

Greg slid inside the car and suddenly felt like he'd entered another world. His confidence diminished somewhat when faced with the fine leather interior and the sleek steering wheel, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Even the windows were tinted, and Greg only realized this when the door closed behind him and the world was shut out. This was Mycroft's space, he could feel it. 

Mycroft slid into the driver's seat only a few moments later. Encouraged by the fact that Greg looked more comfortable than intimidated, he turned the key and the engine came to life with a smooth, mechanical purr. He backed them out of the parking spot, and soon enough they were out on the lamp lit streets. "Quicker than waiting for public transport home. And safer and more comfortable, I should think."

"I'll say." Greg glanced to his right where Mycroft was keenly watching the road. Bright lights from the street drenched him in warm yellow over and over. It caught in his hair and his pale skin and made him look somehow more _alive_ than Greg had ever seen him. His hand changed its grip on the steering wheel and drew Greg's attention before he forced himself to look out the window so he wouldn't be caught staring. "Nice car."

"Thank you. I'm limited to the London streets most days, but occasionally I get a chance to get out into the countryside where speed limits are a bit more... flexible." Mycroft could never be called a thrill seeker, unlike his brother, but driving was an activity he actually enjoyed. Something about it was soothing, even as it gave him more time to think without working towards any particular goal. "It's quite funny, actually - this car gets mistaken for an unmarked police car fairly often. People make the most amusing faces as they panic and suddenly pay rapt attention to traffic laws."

"That must suck for traffic flow when you're trying to 'flex' the speed limit," Greg laughed, honestly amused at the thought of Mycroft dodging cars and winding his way through open country roads. It gave him a rather bold idea. He could tell Mycroft saw it dawn across his face, the way his grey eyes glanced over suspiciously from the driver's seat. He put his elbow on the armrest, riffling fingers through his hair, but trying to be casual about it. " _Do_ you flex the rules…every now and then?"

"I'm going to have to invoke the common law right to silence," Mycroft teased back, glancing at his passenger. His gaze followed Greg's fingers as they carded through dark hair; moreover, Greg saw him watching. "I admire your enthusiasm and dedication to your future profession, but you surely can't expect to get me to confess to anything so easily."

"Is that so?" Greg was grinning wide, really getting into it. His whole upper back was now relaxed against the passenger door, allowing him extra leg room to make himself comfortable and look at Mycroft straight on. He had a good sense of the picture he made and Mycroft's quick glance confirmed it. "Maybe I'll have to try harder then."

Greg's flirtatious demeanor was making it more and more difficult for Mycroft to keep his attention on the road. He actually took a wrong turn and had to backtrack slightly. Greg, at least, seemed content to keep his hands to himself, tempting only with sight instead of touch. "...should I be worried by what you have in mind?"

Despite the certainty in his posturing, a familiar blush spread back across Greg's features. He could feel it. Mycroft could see it, even if he was acting like he wasn't looking. 

"I suppose that depends," Greg ventured, "Since you won't say, I can only guess." Their eyes met for a moment before Greg noticed the street. "Oh, turn here. And, just, go to the end of the block." 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but did as Greg requested. He wondered whether Greg was embarrassed to be seen being dropped off by a car like this. Depending on what his neighbors were like, he could reap a fair amount of teasing for brownnosing a presumed Tory. He pulled up to the kerb and parked. He turned to wish Greg a good night, only to find that the words had stuck in his throat. The younger man was still staring at him, reclined against the door.

The look Mycroft gave him made Greg's smile widen. Normally, he couldn't read the man at all. But gradually, from the moment they'd left, he'd been catching sight of things. Micro expressions at first, quick glances, his too-tight grip on the steering wheel, things like that. But in that moment, Mycroft was finally open to him, red lips parted and pupils wide from the dim light and maybe more. 

Greg found his heart racing as he peeled himself away from the door and moved closer. They watched each other, expressions unchanging, perhaps wary and perhaps hopeful, until Greg was well enough into Mycroft's space that his hand was planted over the parking break. Still, the older man didn't move. 

"Thank you." Greg could feel the heat in his face and the thrumming in his chest, but he leaned up anyway, waiting only a split second for Mycroft to do something, pull back, look away, anything, before he pressed his mouth to the other man's. 

Mycroft went stiff with shock, unresponsive for a moment as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Another second and he began slowly, shyly kissing Greg back. The sensation was light enough, clumsy enough, that it became apparent that for all Mycroft's prowess with programming and deduction, he had minimal experience with kissing.

When Greg pulled away to let them both breathe, Mycroft's eyes had gone dark and more than a little wild with panic.

Greg hovered back just a few inches. He'd realized Mycroft was hesitant, and so was he, but he'd assumed it to be for another reason. Namely, that they were working together. Still, he kept his hand on the lapel of Mycroft's suit, discovering unexpectedly that he…kind of liked that look of nervousness on the older man's face. Greg's smile resurfaced and his hand ran upward, brushing along smooth fabric until it reached Mycroft's neck, and he leaned in again. 

Mycroft knew there were a myriad of reasons he shouldn't be doing this, but all his coherent thoughts turned to dust and slipped through his fingers the moment Greg pulled him closer again. His attraction to the younger man had been distant, without the expectation of anything happening, simply because his attentions had never been _returned_ before. Mycroft's hands moved of their own accord to rest at Greg's sides, trembling slightly.

Greg made a small sound, a very pleasant hum, when he did this, but the kiss didn't stop. Greg's fingers only wound themselves into Mycroft's collar and the younger man shifted so much closer it seemed as though he might try to crawl right into Mycroft's lap, between the steering wheel and all. His tongue made an appearance, not just nipping and sensuously drawing Mycroft forward anymore, but kissing in earnest. Greg's heart was still thrumming in his chest, and Mycroft could surely feel it now, pressed this close. 

Mycroft jumped slightly when Greg licked his way into his mouth; he'd known that such things happened with some types of kissing, but experiencing it was something altogether different. Greg still tasted of the black tea he'd had at the office, more bitter than the earl grey blend Mycroft preferred, and Mycroft knew that the association was going to be locked away in his eidetic memory. Greg showed no signs of letting up, and Mycroft reluctantly pushed at him until Greg pulled back and let him breathe. 

"...I..." _Can't_ hovered right on the tip of his tongue, but Mycroft couldn't quite bring himself to utter the word.

Greg's eyes, darker in the dim light, searched Mycroft's face and some uncertainty came back into him. He pulled back just a little more and swallowed. Unconsciously his tongue swept out over his lips, very likely still tasting Mycroft. "Sorry," he breathed in a whisper, "I didn't mean to…uhm." Greg had to stop that sentence right there and then before he told a blatant lie. 

Mycroft gave him a flicker of a reassuring smile, leaning forward minutely before he stopped himself. "You-... it's late, you should-" Mycroft licked his own lips and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I should probably go, and you should go home and get some sleep." They were both out of sorts and not thinking clearly, and Mycroft's instincts were screaming at him to retreat to a safe distance.

"Yeah." Greg nodded with a short breath of his own, eyes glancing up and trying to decipher Mycroft again before he pulled all the way back. He picked up his bag from the floor and reached for the door handle. Before he opened it he looked back at Mycroft. The man looked completely flustered, his chest still rising and falling with every breath. Greg couldn't help but be a little proud of himself. "Thanks. Really," he added before he got out of the car. 

Mycroft felt like he should be the one thanking Greg, but he inclined his head and accepted the gratitude. "You're most welcome." They stared for a moment longer, Greg lingering by the open door before he finally stepped away and let it shut. Mycroft returned Greg's wave shyly and watched his silhouette retreat down the block for a good few minutes before he shifted gears and pulled away from the kerb.

* * *

The next day saw Greg walking around the office with a bounce in his step. In the morning he was wide awake before coffee and by midday his energy was still running strong. Everyone could see he was in good spirits, but he'd declined to say why when he was asked. Naturally, it was attributed to either youth or a particularly good night out. 

In truth, he'd gone to bed remembering the feel of Mycroft's mouth. The man's lips were as soft as they looked. The feel of his long, tapered fingers was burned into Greg's skin. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night, but he woke refreshed and determined to see that it happened again. Mycroft had been shy, but that was quite alright in Greg's opinion. He hadn't expected to be the more experienced of the two, but it sent a thrill through him unlike anything else. Most of the day he spent at Mycroft's side, just knowing how the man's hands felt and wanting nothing more than to feel him again. 

Mycroft, in contrast, seemed equally awake but full of nervous tension. He was doing his best to hide it, but it hovered in the air like a soft, subtle vibration, the alertness of an animal that feels itself to be hunted. He still smiled warmly at Greg and talked him through the day's tasks without incident, but he went unusually still whenever his apprentice got too physically close. Their covert glances continued as before, and Mycroft found it difficult to truly sink into his projects when his mind was stuck on the problem of the young man beside him.

As the day drew to a close and the office began emptying out, Mycroft's tension only increased. He began to save his work and shut his terminal down. "I'm not staying late tonight."

Greg looked up quickly, wondering if this were perhaps code for something. Something such as 'let's get out of here early', his thoughts supplied hopefully even though the prickling sense in the back of his mind told him something was off. Greg followed suit, gathering his papers and marking off the last of his documents for tomorrow. "Oh. You have any plans…?"

"Nothing in particular, although I may tackle some work at home that I've been putting off," Mycroft replied. "At least this early, transport should be easily obtained. Traffic may be heavy, but routes run more frequently." Mycroft could feel Greg's gaze on his back; he knew the younger man would have been expecting another offer of a ride home, or perhaps a ride elsewhere. At this point, Mycroft knew that getting privately cornered in a small space was potentially a _very bad idea_ , given what had happened the previous night.

"We-" Greg's thick brows furrowed, pausing before he finished quickly packing away his things. Mycroft was about ready to run. "Well, yeah, but…." He wasn't really sure how he was going to finish that sentence. His stomach was sinking rapidly, realizing that Mycroft was suggesting they part ways. "Want to grab something to eat before you go?" 

"That's alright, I'm sure you've had enough of the cafeteria food over the past few days. Besides, the traffic is only going to get worse as the nightlife gets going." Mycroft's avoidance was utterly transparent, but he was being as gentle as he could. "I appreciate the offer, however. Have a good evening, and I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

With that, Mycroft beat a hasty retreat, studiously avoiding the temptation to look behind himself as he darted off for the lift. The reasons for his rush were opaque to everyone but Greg: Mycroft didn't know what to do with the situation, so he was trying to avoid having to do anything at all.

Greg was left standing by the door wondering just what had gone wrong. He slung his bag over his shoulder and shut the light off, closing up the office behind him. Mycroft was so rushed he'd left it to Greg. By the time he reached the lift, his supervisor was already gone. 

It didn't make sense to Greg. He could tell Mycroft liked him. The signs were there, subtle as they were, but this rejection left him feeling more uncertain than ever as he rode the tube home. 

Lying in bed that night, Greg’s thoughts churned over Mycroft Holmes. Knowing he would see the man tomorrow was little relief. They would be at work, and Mycroft would be avoiding Greg again. He'd never been in a relationship like this before. Not with women, and definitely not with men. With all the enthusiasm of a teenaged boy, on the brink of entering the world of adults, he needed to know. 

He needed to get Mycroft alone again. 

Mycroft didn't fair much better that night. Avoiding the problem of what to do about Gregory Lestrade hadn't brought any relief. No answers had been forthcoming, no matter how he tried to analyze the situation, and he was left with mixed feelings of excitement and dread at the idea of seeing Greg at the office the next morning. He didn't precisely want Greg to lose interest and reject him as he'd been rejected many times before, but neither did he know how to proceed - _particularly_ given all of their differences and the unfortunate fact that they were working together, at least for the moment.

* * *

The next day fared much the same. Mycroft was alert from caffeine, rather than a decent amount of sleep, and threw himself into his work. Lunch together with Gregory was polite and a little distant, and he avoided his apprentice as much as possible before making his excuses and ducking out early again, leaving Greg to fend for himself for getting back home.

That time though, Greg didn't stick around to dawdle. He'd been expecting the avoidance, the distance, but he'd hoped that Mycroft would have been able to talk to him at least after work. When that didn't happen, he threw himself into the rather questionable plan he’d come up with the night prior. 

That morning he'd spent some time early in the office getting a parking pass for his parents' car. So, racing down the halls and the stairwell after Mycroft's retreating figure, he made it to his borrowed car in the parking lot seconds before the older man came through the doors. Greg watched as Mycroft climbed in and pulled out, following at the very last moment. 

Tailing Mycroft was difficult with the heavy London traffic, but his car was surprisingly easy to spot. Posh black cars, rather than being particularly discreet, stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of silver, red, and white sedans and gaudy yellow taxis. Mycroft's route, too, was predictable; true to form, the black car turned into the high-end neighborhood near Regent Canal. Mycroft clearly had money outside of his salary. No one who was just starting out at MI5 would have been able to afford a flat anywhere near Duncan Terrace.

Mycroft's car disappeared around another turn. One of these buildings clearly had to contain his flat, as the only place his car could have gone was into resident parking.

Greg sped around the street, looking for parking. It was nearly impossible in this neighborhood, as all the streets were permit only or reserved. It wasn't long before he gave up and slid his car into a reserved spot. He'd take a parking ticket at this point. He didn't care. Jogging down the street in the direction he last saw Mycroft, Greg tried to guess which building he'd disappeared into. 

"Gregory, what are you doing?" Mycroft was waiting calmly behind him when Greg whirled in the direction of his voice, although he didn't look calm at all. The ginger looked, quite frankly, cornered and wishing that he were somewhere else, not confronting the man who'd tailed him out in the open. 

Greg tried to stifle his surprise, schooling his expression the best he could. Mycroft had caught him out like he'd known Greg had been following the whole time, sneaking up behind him like that. When Greg shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, he got the feeling that it looked anything but. "Looking for you."

"That much is obvious, but-" Mycroft cut himself off and glanced quickly up and down the street. He rocked uneasily on his heels, locked in an internal debate with himself for a moment. A sigh indicated that he'd come to a conclusion. As much as being alone with Greg might be dangerous in ways other than the physical, talking about such things in the open was a more distasteful option. "Not out here. Follow me."

Mycroft led Greg towards a building that looked much like the rest on the street: clean and stately, with decorative iron trim and a colorful door. The stairwell was silent as they walked up to the second floor. Mycroft's neighbors evidently valued their privacy and extended the same courtesy to those around them. His flat turned out to be much like Greg might have imagined it, modern efficiency and convenience mixed with antiques, all with a picturesque view of the canal out the back windows. 

Mycroft crossed his arms defensively and turned to face Greg. "...now, are you going to explain why you're here?"

Greg flushed. He couldn't help drawing into himself under Mycroft's stare. He barely managed to catch his shoulders drawing down defensively. 

"Alright," Greg swallowed and cleared his throat, just to take a few extra seconds and gather himself. "Well, you've been avoiding me." That sounded accusatory. "I mean…" He sighed through his nose, finally meeting Mycroft's stare with defiance of his own, even though his blush deepened. "You realize I like you, right?"

A slow matching blush crept across Mycroft's features. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his own arms, as if that would stop the situation from going terribly wrong. "Yes, I realize that. It's... it's not unrequited. But there are complications, you understand? It wouldn't reflect well on either of us if we were obviously involved during your apprenticeship. Your review and recommendation at the end might just get dismissed because they'd assume I was biased for personal reasons."

Mycroft swallowed, looking more and more like a deer caught in the headlights as Greg continued to stare at him. "I also don't... know about this, how to make it work. I don't have experience with these things," he added softly.

Silence stretched until Greg nodded slowly. 

"I…thought so." His blush didn't lessen. Neither of them moved, until he shrugged again. It was little more than a twitch. "I haven't exactly got a _lot_ of experience." Greg would be damned if anyone else had heard him utter those words, but he immediately regretted them when he realized he still had far more than Mycroft. He tried to smile. "That's…ok, y'know." 

Mycroft's unease filtered into his eyes. "I know it's alright, but people still have expectations. I don't-" Mycroft swallowed again and looked down. "I don't know what to do. I don't know why you're interested, to be perfectly honest. Not that it's unwelcome, but we seem to have little in common."

Finally Greg's eyes fell. He looked more and more like the teenager he was. "Yeah I know. But I think you like me too. And…we have work in common. Not that I think we should tell anybody at work. I just, I mean…I think this is what I want to do with my life. I don't know where I'll wind up, but…"

Bringing Greg inside has seemed like the best option at the time, but Mycroft was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake. Without the worry that they were going to be spotted or overheard by someone he knew, the temptation to kiss Greg again was overwhelming. Particularly so when he was looking distraught, lips slightly parted in a sigh. "We might have more than work in common, but we don't know for certain yet." 

Mycroft paused to look Greg over once more, then shyly moved closer. A voice at the back of his head was screaming for him not to squander this chance with a person who'd seen his oddities and still found him attractive. When Greg looked up as he drew close, Mycroft bent down and touched their lips together.

Greg was still at first, aware that Mycroft had just been going over reasons that they shouldn't do this. It didn't take long for him to realize that he might have changed the older man's mind. He stepped closer, feeling his heart rate pick up, and opened his mouth to Mycroft's. It was tentative. Greg felt like the other man might turn away at any moment, and he hesitated to put his hands on him for fear of just that. 

Mycroft felt Greg relax to let him in. He knew how this was supposed to go, intellectually if not from experience. He cautiously deepened the kiss, tasting Greg's lower lip before he shyly delved into his mouth. Heat and wetness had been expected, but Mycroft couldn't have predicted the way his skin started to tingle, nor the rush that traveled through him when Greg's tongue met his own and matched him.

Greg's hands slid to his sides. It was already clear he was more comfortable with this than Mycroft was, but he let Mycroft lead as much as he wanted to, picking up here and there when the older man hesitated. Despite everything, Greg could feel the excitement radiating from Mycroft. It was quickly ramping up within him, as though it could transfer through touch. He couldn't resist stepping forward once more, bringing them in contact front to front, just to feel Mycroft against him. 

Definitely interested. Mycroft jumped slightly when they pressed together, unused to the sensation. By this time, he'd wrapped his arms loosely around Greg's shoulders. His shock made him break the kiss, but he only drew back enough to look at Greg with an unspoken question in his eyes. For all that Mycroft knew of basic human psychology, etiquette, and military tactics, he was at a loss when it came to the emotional and the personal. Thoughts of what this could lead to already had him nervous as well as excited.

Greg picked up on the feeling. His eyes sparked in return. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, a real one. 

"So. You ok with this?" Greg whispered. He didn't back away, he didn't give Mycroft any more space than he already had. He drew his hand behind the taller man's back and placed it there firmly. Greg couldn't say that Mycroft's reasons for hesitating weren't valid, he just didn't care at this point.

Mycroft found his resistance dissolving. Greg was warm, ever so present, but still being considerate with his interest. _Why_ Greg was interested no longer seemed to matter, nor what consequences they might incur. They'd deal with them when and if such things happened. 

"...yes," Mycroft whispered back. His grip on Greg's shoulders tightened.

Greg's smile turned into something slightly more confident. A trickle of heat ran through him and he felt it mirrored in Mycroft's touch. "Good." 

Greg leaned up and pulled the taller man down to him again, this time with far less hesitation. He knew they were going to have awkward moments, unlike any he'd had with one of the girls in his class, but Mycroft was willing now and Greg would just have to figure it out. 

Mycroft let himself get pulled down for another kiss. Greg's eyes, while still striking from a distance, were even more so up close: layers of brown, from sunwarmed wood to dark turned earth, and the black pools at their centers were growing larger by the moment. Mycroft's hand slid from Greg's shoulder to the back of his neck, then up to card fingers through dark hair, much as he'd seen the younger man do innumerable times. 

The shorter man smiled against his mouth. Greg pressed into him, running his hands over Mycroft's back and lower, pulling them together. He could feel slight resistance, Mycroft being unused to the motion, but the friction it caused was more than worth it. One of his legs found its way between Mycroft's and Greg leaned his head back into Mycroft's hand, enjoying the sensation. 

When Greg slipped a leg between his and tugged him forward, Mycroft nearly forgot to breathe. The sensation of rubbing up against another body in such a way, even with clothes, was markedly different from merely touching oneself. Mycroft could actually feel his thoughts slowing down as blood got forcibly rerouted to other parts of his anatomy. Greg must have felt the effect he'd had, and Mycroft was certain the younger man was going to laugh, but Greg just kept smiling.

The world seemed to rock slightly, Mycroft lost track of the passage of time, and it could have been minutes or hours before he slid his hands down Greg's arms and tugged at him. He walked backwards blindly, unwilling to give up the closeness between them even to lead Greg to the bedroom.

Greg's hands found the fastenings of his clothes as they went. Mycroft's jacket fell in the hall and Greg was working at his tie when they crossed the doorway. The younger man wasn't hesitant at all. By the time it slipped from Mycroft's collar and fell through Greg's hands, they were already at the foot of the bed. Greg's grin was wide and confident when he moved Mycroft toward it. The older man was all flustered, half lidded eyes and red lips, hair ruffled from its formerly perfect curl at the top of his head. 

Mycroft felt like he was drowning. Greg was shorter than he by a few inches, yet still managed to move and look at him in a way that made Mycroft feel like he was looking _up_ at the younger man. He backed up until his legs hit the bed, and then he really _was_ looking up at Greg. Mycroft licked his lips and started to unloop Greg's tie. He was still half-expecting to get his hands swatted away.

Something in Greg's demeanor calmed for just that moment, letting Mycroft take it into his own hands. Elegant fingers pulled the knot loose and slowly drew it free of his neck while Greg's smile widened. He'd never liked the thing anyway, but feeling Mycroft take it off him made it worth putting on in the first place. For how reserved the older man normally was, he was completely open now. Uncertainty flashed back and forth across his features with the same kind of desperate interest Greg felt. 

When the tie was free, Greg couldn't resist anymore. He leaned down and kissed Mycroft again, hands quickly going to pull the older man’s shirt free of his trousers.

Mycroft kissed him back. Even that distraction wasn't quite enough to keep him from blushing as Greg pulled his shirt loose and began to work on the frustratingly tiny buttons, slowly laying his skin bare. Skin that was equally pale as the rest of him, but for the dusting of freckles that covered his shoulders, back, and upper arms. Mycroft felt terribly vulnerable once his dress shirt was finally discarded on the floor. He glanced up at Greg for reassurance while he copied what Greg had done, tugging on his shirt until the hem was free and gave him a view of a tanned stomach. The contrast between his own ghostly fingers and Greg's skin only highlighted just how different their lives were.

It didn't deter Greg. His eyes roamed over Mycroft's torso, followed shortly by his hands and then his mouth. He bent over Mycroft with his palms running slowly down his sides, beginning his kisses at Mycroft's throat and moving lower and lower. He ended at Mycroft's navel, flattening himself against the man's lower half and causing a fair amount of indirect friction. Greg seemed to know exactly what he was doing, with his fingers dipping under the hem of sleek trousers. 

Mycroft had had trouble focusing until that moment. The reality of warm digits sliding under his waistband drove home just how far this could go. He drew in a shuddering breath, watching Greg with wide eyes while the younger man worked on the fastenings of his trousers. "What... are we doing?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. Greg was still far more clothed than he, and that didn't seem quite fair.

Greg gave him a wicked grin. "You'll see." 

When the buttons came undone and Greg had the trousers shifted halfway down Mycroft's hips, he hovered over the man, leaning closer and closer. Hot breath ghosted over the fabric of Mycroft's pants before those too was hooked in Greg's fingers and slowly pulled down. The younger man glanced up to meet Mycroft's eyes for a split second before he lowered them completely.

Mycroft was frozen in place, torn between desire and disbelief. Greg's mouth was barely two inches away. He hadn't even been touched yet and Mycroft could feel himself hardening even _further_. Greg must have noticed his incredulous expression, as he laughed, but it wasn't a cruel sound. 

When Mycroft still made no move to either stop him or encourage him, Greg went right ahead. He started licking a stripe up the base to the tip of Mycroft's cock, unable to hide his smirk at the noise Mycroft made. He was so incredibly tense under Greg's hands, every muscle pulled taut under such soft skin. Greg could barely believe how smooth it was. Compared to his own, it was fascinating. And beautiful. Mycroft was a world away from everything he was, everything he'd grown up with…and yet strangely welcome. 

Greg mouthed down the other side before swirling his tongue around the head and sucking. 

Mycroft was helpless to stop a low moan from escaping his throat, both at the feel and the _sight_ Greg made. It was all he could do to stop his hips from canting up to meet him. One hand fisted in Greg's dark hair in a desperate bid to anchor himself, the other tightly gripping the younger man's shoulder. 

Actually feeling a mouth around his cock was so much more intense than he'd imagined it would be. Even more so because he wasn't engaged in a fantasy with a faceless lover; Greg was very real, and here of his own free will, and so exquisitely beautiful as he moved between his legs.

Greg finally pulled off to unfasten his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders in a rush of motion. His skin was so heated that when he pressed back down against Mycroft's legs, the older man could feel it. The sounds Greg was making, his own groans, flesh sliding into his mouth, bordered the obscene. He made sure of it, glancing up to watch the desperate expression on Mycroft's face. He looked like he was in pain, mouth open in the smallest o. 

Mycroft was getting lost in sensation. He'd known that giving pleasure was considered to be just as enjoyable as receiving it, but he was shocked at just how enthusiastic Greg seemed to be. The sounds he was making were transferred from his mouth right to Mycroft's core. So too, the feel of Greg's bare chest against his skin only made him want more.

With great reluctance, Mycroft tugged at Greg until the younger man released him. There was a moment of confusion where Greg frowned at him in concern before he read the wordless cues. Mycroft pulled Greg up onto the mattress with him, kicking off his own trousers and pants where they'd pooled at his ankles and beginning to work on divulging Greg of the last of his clothing.

Greg was grinning, laughing softly at the tangle they made until Mycroft's hands found his bare skin. He soon had Greg moaning his name instead. It sounded odd at first, said aloud with Greg's breathless whisper. Mycroft's name had never been said that way before, but Greg had been practicing it like that in his head for days now. It fell from his lips with ease. When Greg's own trousers and shorts were kicked off in return, his hands found Mycroft's hips and pulled them closer. 

They slotted together with surprising ease, hip to hip, cock to cock. Mycroft would have spent more time looking had he not been preoccupied with the feel of Greg's body against his own. Greg had rolled them until Mycroft was on his back. The younger man shifted, presenting an opening, and Mycroft leaned up to kiss his neck. That provoked such a tantalizing groan from Greg that Mycroft did it again, adding a bit of suction the second time.

Greg's neck arched for him. The young man was breathing deeply and when Mycroft sucked particularly hard, Greg ground his hips down against his in an agonizing circular motion. It took a moment to find the rhythm between them, even with Greg's enthusiasm, but once they did he was moaning even louder. Greg's rough fingers slid between them, reaching down and squirming on top of Mycroft just to get his hand wrapped as much around both of them as he could. When he did, they gasped together and Greg had to catch himself on an elbow before he fell against Mycroft. 

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg, braced his feet against the mattress, and thrust against Greg's hand. A bit of his earlier shyness had melted away in the heat of the moment, but there was a certain awkwardness to his movements that spoke of his lack of experience. After a few minutes, Mycroft flinched and grabbed Greg's hip to still him. "Lubricant, in the top drawer," he murmured. "Too rough without it."

"Yeah," Greg whispered back with a flush. He hadn't thought to ask, but got over his embarrassment quickly when he rifled around the drawer to find it. It wasn't a long search. Mycroft's lack of experience with others didn't seem to mean he wasn't experienced in pleasing himself. Greg smirked knowingly when he came back. He poured a glob in his hand, and, feeling mischievous, sat down in front of the prone man and spread it over himself. 

Mycroft watched and slowly grew self-conscious again, both from Greg's smirk and the way he was eying Mycroft back. Greg was only a bit younger than him, but the physical difference between them was greater than tanned skin against pale. Greg's hobbies had left him trim and toned - an athletic physique. Mycroft, in comparison, looked slightly soft from his life behind computer screens and books. 

Greg leaned down, still smiling, still with excitement dancing behind his eyes. He caught the hesitance in Mycroft's expression, even if he couldn't tell exactly what it was for. Bracing himself on one hand, he let his gaze wander from the freckled constellations over Mycroft's hips to the man's perfectly pink cock, lingering there before traveling up to his face. Greg had watched this man every day, fully clothed, and it had driven him crazy. He'd never been interested in anyone he might have described as 'dandy' before, but Mycroft was something else. Perfectly posh, but he could have been painted on porcelain. The way he'd looked at Greg, kindly stared through him like he knew all his secrets with only a glance. And he had. It was incredible. 

Greg's slickened hand slid down to wrap around Mycroft's length and the young man bent even closer still, brushing his mouth over Mycroft's lower lip. 

Mycroft gasped softly as Greg's hand wrapped around him again. He still wasn't certain why Greg had decided to take an interest in him, rather than keeping his distance, but he wasn't going to question his luck too closely. Despite his reluctance to start this, for both of their sakes, Mycroft had ached for the chance to pursue something with Greg. What he'd been able to discern of Greg's true self had drawn his interest even more than his handsome features. 

Their eyes met, and Mycroft became even more determined not to let this go. He didn't want just a one-night stand with the younger man. Whatever happened, they'd work something out.

Greg's mouth widened. He caught the little surge of determination in Mycroft's expression, and something inside him was thrilled at seeing it. There was a rejuvenated hardness behind Mycroft's grey eyes. Greg's fingers squeezed lightly before sliding up to take them both in hand again. He pressed firmly against Mycroft, hips moving like he wished he could lift the older man's long legs and slide inside him. Instead, Greg bent to Mycroft’s lips and did it with his tongue. 

Mycroft twined around Greg again, matching the pace he'd set. Greg was still firmly in control, but Mycroft found he didn't mind in the slightest. Greg knew what he was doing - just how tight his grip should be, how quickly he should stroke, how to kiss him in such a way that it made his toes curl in response. Mycroft was panting against Greg's mouth at this point, teetering right on the edge of release. 

By the sound of Greg's breathing, he was nearly as close. His free hand snaked up to the back of Mycroft's neck, holding him right there even when he broke apart to let out a few panting breaths. He nearly came on the spot when he glanced down between them to see the heads of their cocks slipping through his hand on every down stroke. His toes curled and his fingers twisted in Mycroft's hair and before he knew it, he'd lost control. He came with his mouth falling open, dazed with the sensation until he met Mycroft's mouth and then all his attention was focused on those two points of contact. 

Mycroft came with a cry, arching up against Greg. They clung to each other even after the last waves of orgasm had faded, hot and sticky but still somehow... pleasant. Greg had collapsed atop him, and Mycroft was content to simply hold onto the younger man. Greg's fingers were still buried in his hair and, unexpectedly, began stroking. "That was..." Mycroft couldn't think of an appropriate description. He found that he couldn't think easily at all just then. A red rosette on Greg's neck caught his eye. "...I've left a mark on you."

He felt Greg smile into his neck before the young man turned his head. Greg looked at him, exhausted and unwilling to lift himself just yet, but their eyes met and Greg's were full of warmth. His smile said all that need be said as to how he felt about a hickey on his neck. He shifted to kiss Mycroft again, using his grip on the back of the older man's neck to guide them together, this time unhurried. Finally Greg moved to the side a little to let Mycroft breathe. Greg's arms and one of his legs remained wrapped around him. "I'm glad you let me stay."

"I'm glad you were persistent and wanted to stay." There would be issues they'd have to discuss and deal with, but those things could wait for a bit longer. They'd deal with them together. Or so Mycroft hoped; concern flitted over his features at the idea that Greg might only have wanted a one-night stand. He didn't hide the expression quickly enough for Greg to miss it, tucked close together as they were. "...truthfully, I'd like it if you'd stay a bit longer."

Greg shifted to make himself more comfortable. His arm tightened around Mycroft. That brief flash of uncertainty gave him a boost of confidence and his smile turned cheeky. "Don't mind if I do." 

Greg reached down and pulled the thick blankets up around them to fight off the chill that was gradually creeping over their bare skin. He wouldn't be expected back anytime soon, not with it being Friday. He could probably get away with going missing for a good portion of the weekend if he really tried. He watched Mycroft, staring back at him, reading Greg like a book no doubt. Mycroft, the mystery man who somehow hadn't lost any of Greg’s curiosity. 

Mycroft was slow to relax. He stayed curled around Greg, slightly tense and staring like the younger man was a marvel that had just materialized out of thin air. He couldn't quite believe his luck, or the reality of the situation. Looking soon wasn't enough, and tapered fingers began to delicately explore, learning Greg's face and form by touch. "What do you usually do on Saturdays?"

"Besides fill out university applications?" Greg yawned softly. He was melting under Mycroft's hands. "Go out with friends I suppose. Which means I won't be missed for a while." His mouth curled, looking almost mischievously up at Mycroft from where he'd laid his head on the older man's shoulder. There was an unstated question there, a silver of hope in Greg's eyes, about whether Mycroft would be free as well. 

"Neither will I." Side projects could wait, and so could family visits. Mycroft finally settled down as he felt Greg relax beside him. "Sleep first. We can talk and plan more tomorrow." Mycroft reached over and turned off the light on the bedside table. The warmth of Greg twined around him was more than pleasant, and Mycroft could only hope that Greg wouldn't reconsider his choice come morning.

They rested like that for several minutes, Mycroft just feeling Greg's comforting weight and Greg just feeling Mycroft's soft skin, pressed together in all the right ways. It didn't take Greg long to fall fast asleep, and Mycroft not too long after him. All in all, it was one of the most peaceful nights Mycroft's lonely little flat had ever seen.

* * *

Mycroft was the first of the two of them to wake. He laid utterly still, eyes closed, concentrating on how everything felt. His stomach felt slightly tacky from the previous night, but that was offset by the way Greg had shifted during the night. One arm had been flung possessively across his chest, Greg's slow breathing was drifting across his neck, and portions of his own anatomy were quite firmly pressed against the curve of Greg’s hip. Certainly, there were worse ways to wake in the morning.

Greg's breathing remained even until Mycroft shifted. Only a little. The younger man, though deep in sleep, tightened his hold on Mycroft and pressed against him, hip to hip. Greg mumbled something unintelligible and it quickly became clear that he was dreaming. About something very pleasant, from the way lower half shifted insistently again. "Can't I just put the files away already?" he whined, tone needy. 

Mycroft froze for a moment, then smiled. The friction down below was rapidly causing his mind to change gears. Relationships clearly were hazards for one's focus. "Maybe. What would you do once they were put away?" Greg shifted again, and it took a concerted effort for Mycroft to resist rolling them over and pinning Greg beneath him.

The frustrated sigh that came out of Greg was a little short of ridiculous. If he'd been awake, he'd have sported the perfect pout. "Do you even have to _ask_?" Clearly whatever was going on in his dream should have seemed perfectly obvious. Greg's whole body stretched against Mycroft, rubbing along his side. " _Please_ Mycroft."

Mycroft's lips parted in surprise - both that Greg still hadn't woken up, and that Greg was dreaming about _him_. Ideas of resistance were forgotten. Mycroft shifted and carefully repositioned them, turning Greg onto his back and draping himself atop the younger man like a blanket. "Greg." Mycroft stroked fingers through dark hair. "Greg, wake up."

Greg's eyes fluttered open, confusion crossing his face for a split second until he realized what had happened. He blushed. And then grinned. It sat crooked on his face, but he was laughing at himself softly, seeing the quiet mirth and interest behind Mycroft's eyes. "Uhm, good morning."

"It must be a good morning. I woke up with a handsome man in my bed, pressed to my side and whispering _please_ ," Mycroft teased. Something about the morning light and Greg's bed-tousled hair only made him appear all the more striking. Mycroft supposed he looked even more disheveled, with his hair's tendency towards stray curls. "I confess, I half-believed you were going to vanish halfway through the night, only for me to find out it was all a dream."

Greg's mouth closed and his smile lightened in its still-crooked state. "Well imagine my surprise to wake up to the very man I was dreaming about, already naked, and very, _very_ interested…" Greg's chin tilted up and he pushed his hips up, sliding them against Mycroft's to emphasize the physicality of that interest.

Mycroft's pupils visibly widened from the friction. Not only was this not a dream, Greg was still, as far as Mycroft could discern, intent on pursuing a relationship. Relief was quickly replaced with hunger. 

If nothing else, Mycroft was a quick learner; while he bent to tease the sensitive spots along Greg's neck, one hand traveled down Greg's side and snuck between them. Mycroft smiled when he was rewarded with a groan and a thrust against his hand.

Greg's hands clasped at the small of Mycroft's back and he would have pulled him tighter if it wouldn't have interrupted the slow, building rhythm of his hand. Greg's head fell back into the pillow and his eyelids fluttered with arousal. When he looked up at Mycroft, it was through dark lashes with a slack expression, as though he were too dazed to form words. Only his hips functioned properly, pushing up into Mycroft's slim fingers with every stroke. 

"Beautiful..." The word came out as a murmur while Mycroft pulled back just to watch. The idea that _he_ was making Greg look like this sent a rush through Mycroft. His fingers tightened around Greg's cock, just to see him gasp again. "What do you want? More like last night?" If Greg had something different in mind, he'd have to lead again.

Heat coiled in Greg's gut to hear Mycroft ask. He grit his teeth and hissed before he could look at the older man again. He'd had an idea. He'd had several, actually, but one really stuck out in his mind. Not just since the dream. Mycroft hovered over him, uncertainty mixed with a very subtle, very controlled and contrasting predatory quality. Greg had the suspicion it came to him naturally, as it didn't quite fit with the rest of his prim and pleasant demeanor, but he'd glimpsed it once or twice. Somewhere along the line, he'd fixated on it. Greg's hand fell over Mycroft's, stilling its motion. His thighs parted wider. "I want you to fuck me." 

Mycroft stared down at Greg for a long moment. The hungry look was back, particularly when he licked his lips, but it was tempered with caution. "I don't know what I'm doing. I've- ...I'm certain you've guessed, by now, that I've not done any of this before." Mycroft's thoughts were already jumping ahead, remembering pieces of what he'd seen and heard about. He reluctantly moved off of Greg and went in search of the supplies he'd bought during an optimistic frame of mind some months previous. "You're going to have to help guide me."

Greg sat up on his elbows and watched Mycroft move about with no sign of the interest lessening in his gaze. It was strange how he could be at once turned on by Mycroft's inexperience and the subtle influence he had on Greg at the very same time. It begged the question whether he even knew what power he held over Greg or not. 

When Mycroft returned, Greg moved to meet him, brushing their mouths together with a whisper. "I can do that." 

Greg didn't need to mention he hadn't much experience in this area either; he was confident they could manage with what little he did. He took the lube from Mycroft's hands and poured it over his fingers. Greg leaned back again and made sure Mycroft watched when he reached down to spread it between his parted legs. 

Watching was torment. Mycroft knew the basics of human anatomy and had a general idea of how to go about this, but no practical experience of how to minimize his partner's discomfort while doing so. Greg slid one finger inside himself without much bother, and the way his body gripped around the digit temporarily derailed Mycroft's thoughts again.

He coated his own fingers and waited patiently for Greg to withdraw his hand. "Tell me if anything hurts," he whispered, then slowly pressed one finger into the younger man. After a moment, he added a second.

Greg licked his lips, carefully watching Mycroft's concentration. One long fingered hand rested on his hip for control while the other moved its digits in and out of him. Greg hadn't ever thought he would see those hands like this. On him. In him. He shuddered from that thought alone and lifted his hips. 

"Curl your fingers up. Look for - ah!" Greg gasped. Mycroft had responded quickly. 

If anything, Mycroft's focus _sharpened_. Pale eyes glanced up, eager to catch Greg's reaction as he moved his finger again - circled just around the edges of the right spot, rather than sliding directly over it. When Greg started panting in response, a smile touched Mycroft's mouth that was just short of intimidating. 

No doubt about it, Mycroft had a fascination with control.

He eased up and gave Greg a moment to catch his breath, then slowly began working a third finger in. Pleased as Mycroft had been with Greg's responses thus far, he was still intent on making this as pleasurable as he could for the both of them. 

Finally Greg groaned and shifted to accommodate it. He didn't look like he was in pain yet, just a little discomfort that faded every time Mycroft teased around that sweet spot. He was getting restless quickly, tilting his hips to grind lightly against Mycroft's fingers enough that the older man had to push him back down. 

"I'm ready," Greg panted, even knowing what was to come would be a little more difficult to take. 

Mycroft leaned down to kiss him briefly, then retracted his fingers and reached for the other supplies. He was already rock hard, and it was the work of a moment to break open a foil wrapper, roll a condom on, and apply a liberal amount of lubricant. Mycroft's eyebrows drew together as he moved back into position between Greg's thighs. Once he had them aligned, Mycroft's attention turned to Greg's face while he carefully thrust forward.

Greg couldn't hide his wince of pain. Mycroft paused, but Greg encouraged him forward again with hands gripped at the older man's forearms. Greg was biting his lip by the time Mycroft was fully inside. It wasn't bad when he stopped, but the pressure was sharp. Greg let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to relax, and pulled Mycroft down to let their mouths meet. 

Mycroft curled closer around Greg. With his half-lidded eyes and sharp, pale features, he seemed almost ethereal. The look he gave Greg, however, was nothing but earthy - a shock of pleasure, lust, and an underlying hint of possessiveness. The sensation of being _inside_ someone else was more intense than Mycroft had imagined, particularly when his partner was staring back with raw need.

Mycroft claimed Greg's lips and, after waiting several seconds for the younger man to adjust, he started moving.

Greg gave muffled groans at every one of Mycroft's thrusts, at first from the burning pain and then from bursts of pleasure when Mycroft brushed against his prostate, again and again. He moved shallowly while Greg got used to it. When Greg found just the right way to lift his hips and let himself open up, Mycroft could move in earnest and eventually Greg was gasping in nothing but pleasure. 

The younger man's mouth fell open. Frantically he gripped the back of Mycroft's neck. It was unlikely Mycroft were going to go anywhere but still, Greg needed to keep him in place.

Rather than immediately speeding up, Mycroft kept a varied pace, trying to make this last as long as he could. Lasting was proving difficult, however, with the way Greg was clutching at him and the newness of sex. He watched Greg's confidence from earlier shift into desperation, around the same moment he felt the younger man's legs hook around his back and try to urge him to move faster. Mycroft snuck a hand between them instead and began stroking Greg's cock in time with his thrusts.

Greg gasped loudly. He threw his head back and let his hands slip to Mycroft's arms, still gripping tightly, but letting his hips and legs alone encourage the older man. His chest heaved and every muscle tightened with exertion. Watching Mycroft's teeth clench, just to control his motion into Greg drove the younger man to fixate on his lips. Normally they were as pale as the rest of him, but with everything they'd done, with Greg's rough kisses and nipping teeth, they'd bloomed red. So had his cheeks. 

Mycroft squeezed and Greg whined. He bucked up hard, impaling himself while searching for more of that amazing friction. 

Mycroft could only take so much before he lost control. Greg's cry and the sudden jerking of his hips was the last straw. The pace turned feverish, and Mycroft couldn't get close enough. Lips and teeth claimed heated skin, leaving a trail of marks up Greg's neck before Mycroft claimed his mouth. A few more moments and Mycroft was coming with a cry of his own, his hand tightening around Greg.

Greg's arms wrapped around Mycroft's back. Greg _felt_ it shudder through him. The older man tensed and stiffened in Greg's body, the progressively rough kisses coming to a standstill. Everything stopped but his hand on Greg's cock and three, four, five strokes later, Greg was coming too, shooting into Mycroft's hand with a full-bodied shudder of his own. 

Mycroft felt a warm stickiness coating his fingers while Greg shivered beneath him. Tired as he felt, he broke off the kiss just so he could lift his head and watch Greg's expression as he came, and the languid satisfaction that followed. An odd feeling gripped him at the sight and caused him to curl even more tightly around Greg.

Mycroft wanted to see that look again and again on the younger man, not just last night and this morning.

Greg fell back against the pillows, panting for air. He lay there like he was winded, unable to move, just catching his breath until his head turned and brown eyes met grey. Greg's parted lips still hadn't closed all the way, and they were perfectly kissable. The soft line of them curved into a lazy half smile, just for Mycroft. Greg's fingers reached out and stroked down the curve of his spine. "You're amazing." When Greg spoke again, there was humor in his voice. "I think we need a shower."

Mycroft leaned into the touch and watched Greg with half-lidded eyes. "Give me another minute, and we can." Mycroft could feel himself softening, but it still felt incredible to be _inside_ another human being, much less to think about it. Greg was here, warm, pliant, and happy. Mycroft had an irrational thought, just for a split second, that moving might break the spell. "You're equally amazing, you know."

The warmth on Greg's face didn't fade. They were locked together and sweaty and sticky and mussed from sleep, but Mycroft miraculously didn't seem to care. Neither did Greg. It was uncomfortable, but Greg was entwined with the man he'd been obsessing over all week. More than that, he suspected. He'd had infatuations before. He could tell this was something like that, but it was also…more. Nothing could take him down from the high of it. "I hope you expect me over all the time now."

Mycroft's surprise bled into a slow, real grin. "I wouldn't have it otherwise. Although..." Mycroft paused to consider the fond look Greg was giving him. "I would hope for a bit more than that. It wouldn't do to hide away in here all of the time." Considering the class differences between them, it wasn't inconceivable that Greg might want to hide their relationship from his friends to avoid embarrassment and teasing. Even Greg had had a negative reaction to Mycroft the first day.

"What do you mean?" Greg's face fell into a small frown of confusion. It was clear he didn't get it, whether Mycroft didn't want to hole up in his flat when they could be going out together, or something else. Greg lifted his head. "We can't…you said it yourself, we can't tell anyone at work." He flushed a little just thinking about it.

"Well, no. We can't inform anyone at work until your apprenticeship is finished and I'm no longer your direct supervisor," Mycroft readily agreed. "I meant more that... we should do more than this. We could go places together without it being tantamount to announcing it in the office." Mycroft bit at his lower lip and waited for what he expected to hear: quiet laughter and a refusal, perhaps even embarrassment at the idea of being seen with him when Greg was among his mates at a football game or elsewhere.

Greg's brow furrowed. He looked at Mycroft again with that curious tilt of his head, as though he weren't sure why the older man seemed so nervous about this. 

"Well, yeah." Greg's arms tightened about Mycroft. His pitch lifted at the end like he couldn't remember what he'd thought when he’d first met Mycroft, like Greg couldn't understand why he might not want to go out and be seen with him. 

It was perhaps insensitive of Greg, but it was also a sign of just how much his opinion had changed. 

"You wouldn't mind? I can't really help certain things. If I try to fake a different accent, it doesn't sound convincing, it just sounds terrible." Light as he was trying to make things, Mycroft was speaking from experience. Plenty of people he'd hoped to befriend had ended up only wanting to make use of his talents, intelligence, or means, then vanished whenever he’d requested companionship, particularly in public. If it wasn't class differences, it was personal insecurities or a sense of unease, as if Mycroft were an aberration of nature instead of a human with very human needs and emotions. "I don't know much about your interests, but I suppose you don't know much about mine either. Perhaps we can teach each other."

"Oh." Greg's eyes widened. Finally, he got it. "…I know you're not into the stuff I like, but…you don't seriously think I'd try to hide…everything?" Greg was looking extremely awkward, and though the words came out of his mouth with conviction, the flush to his face said that he very likely would be self-conscious around his peers at the very least. Little doubt it was a sign of his age. But he hadn't expected someone like Mycroft, older, smarter, far more in control of his life than Greg could hope to be in just a few short years, to worry over whether _Greg_ would want to be seen with _him_. Greg stopped. He caught the uncertainty in Mycroft's expression as they considered one another. "I know it'll be weird, and I don't know what you'll think of my friends, and I don't know what they'll think of you, or if you'd want to bring me out to meet Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and whatever, but as far as I'm concerned whoever says a bad word about you can go fuck themselves," Greg finished much more confidently.

"Thank you." Mycroft's quiet response and the kiss that followed spoke for all the things he hadn't said. "We'll just have to see. I'd like to hope I'll get along well with your friends. I know my parents won't mind." And that was yet another embarrassment Mycroft felt deeply, that he didn't have a pack of friends to worry about and introduce to Greg, only his coworkers and his family. 

Mycroft tugged on Greg, getting them both to their feet. A distraction was required. "Time for a shower, don't you think?"

The awkwardness fell away from Greg's face and turned into an easy smile. This, he was much more comfortable with. "Yeah." 

Mycroft led the way and Greg followed close behind, keeping contact with a touch here or a breath of a kiss there. They were filthy and finally feeling it, but Greg didn't mind so very much. Not when in a minute he'd be under the spray of hot water with Mycroft right there with him. 

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, all antiqued brass fixtures, marble, and gleaming porcelain. Mycroft pulled Greg into the room and, after a moment of fussing with the taps, got the water to his preferred temperature. Mycroft had already anticipated the amused laugh he heard from Greg once he stepped under the showerhead; his curly hair, once damp, was just long enough to fall into his eyes.

Mycroft retaliated by tugging Greg into the spray, which only made him laugh harder. Greg’s hair flattened from the unruly, spiky lumps it had been in before he snapped his head back and flung the water from it at Mycroft. It wasn't difficult to get him to play. It seemed to be in his very nature. Greg soaked himself under the water and, with a wicked grin, backed Mycroft up against the wall, feet planted solidly on either side of him so as not to slip when he ran his hands up the smooth skin of Mycroft's sides. Quickly Greg darted for the soap, lathering up a good dash of body wash in his hands before reaching for Mycroft again. 

A slight air of shyness still clung to the older man, but Mycroft was quickly getting a sense of Greg's personality in private. There were no dangerous hidden edges or hooks, no ulterior motivations hidden behind partial truths. Greg was utterly authentic and very much in the moment, and right at that moment he'd decided he'd not had his fill of touching. Mycroft let Greg corner him against the wall. He had to steady himself against Greg's shoulders when the younger man's idea of washing proved more intense than he was expecting. Being an object of desire was a new experience. "...not had enough yet?"

"Just lending a hand," Greg chuckled. He had that mischievous half grin again, the one that was quickly becoming a staple for him whenever he was alone with Mycroft. Greg stepped out of the way and let the heated water wash away all the suds he'd made, running his hands down Mycroft's chest just to help it along. Greg was comfortable like this, Mycroft could see it. The younger man had been self-conscious before, when he hadn't known if he'd be rejected or not, but now there was no trace of it left. 

"Permit me to return the favor." Mycroft's own smile took on a tinge of wickedness, similar to the flickers Greg had seen here and there when the man grew more confident. Mycroft's soaped hands lingered for far longer than Greg's had, clever fingers following all the dips and curves of Greg's skin. When he guided the younger man back under the water, his arms possessively encircled Greg's waist. 

Greg shivered under the heat of the spray and the sensation of Mycroft's arms and body pressed to his back. No one had ever touched him in quite the same way before, like he was something to be studied and committed to memory, every detail of him. Greg let his head fall back onto Mycroft's shoulder, resting with perfect contentment in the crook of his neck while he leaned back into the embrace. "God," Greg breathed, "keep that up and I'll be wanting to go again." 

Mycroft chuckled. "I wouldn't mind. Although that would ruin the main objective of taking a shower." Saturday or no, they couldn't linger in bed all day. Shouldn't, at any rate. Mycroft was perfectly content to spend the weekend alternating between learning Greg's mind and his body. "There's still breakfast to be seen to, and I imagine you'll have to go home sometime."

"Don't remind me." Greg closed his eyes, groaning, and for a second he sounded like the teenager he was. He rolled his head to the side and pressed a wet kiss to Mycroft's neck anyway. He knew too in the back of his mind that he wouldn't be able to stay forever. Finally he turned in Mycroft's arms to let the moment last, pressing their bodies together just for the feel of the taller man against him, reaching up for Mycroft's kiss. They relaxed like that, enjoying the sensuality of the moment before shutting off the water.

The rest of the morning passed too quickly for Mycroft's tastes. All too soon they were dried off and redressed, and after breakfast was reduced to crumbs, it was time to part. Mycroft fetched Greg's jacket, clearly reluctant to see him go. "You're certain you'll be able to find your way home from here?" he asked. 

"If I get lost, will you come find me?" Greg flashed what Mycroft was getting to know as his flirtatious smile. He could light up his whole face when he put it on. When Mycroft gave him a warm but reproachful one in return, Greg relented. He sighed and leaned against the open door. "Yeah, I can get back no trouble." 

"Alright." An awkward pause stretched between them as Mycroft grappled with what to say. He still was uncertain whether Greg now counted as a boyfriend, and there was a distinct void in his knowledge of etiquette for what should be said to a sexual partner who'd spent the night. "If... I don't see you tomorrow, I look forward to seeing you again on Monday." He inched slightly closer, torn between a desire to kiss Greg goodbye and the fear that he was pushing his luck.

Greg must have noticed because his smile came back instantly. He was leaning up to catch Mycroft's mouth before the older man could decide otherwise. It was warm and pleasant and it didn't feel as much like a goodbye as it might have. They kissed for a long minute at Mycroft's door, not minding whether any of his neighbors happened to pass by, and by the time they broke apart, Greg got the feeling he'd reassured the older man somewhat. 

"Same to you," Greg said softly before stepping back, knowing he had to leave. 

Mycroft watched Greg until he'd disappeared back down the street, then finally closed the door. He pressed two fingertips to his lips where he could still feel echoes of their last kiss. He drifted back into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea, lost in memories that would haunt him until he saw Greg again.

* * *

After some awkwardness at work the following week, in which Greg took to surreptitiously slipping out after Mycroft on his way home to spend more nights at the older man's flat than not, they fell into something that might have been called a rhythm. More weeks passed like that. Greg never grew tired of Mycroft, like he'd feared. In fact, the younger man seemed to thrive on their time together. He brought Mycroft out where he could, and Mycroft did the same for him in return. Time flew for the both of them and it wasn't long before Greg's days at MI5 were whittling down to the end. 

They'd both known the day had been coming, anticipating the date with a mixed sense of relief and sadness. On one hand, they'd no longer have to worry about hiding their relationship once Greg moved on, but they wouldn't have the pleasure of working with one another either.

Mycroft was more aloof than usual when Greg joined him in the office, but the younger man knew by now what that meant; Mycroft kept control in stressful or emotional circumstances by detaching himself. The warmth missing from his grey eyes when they settled on Greg wasn't reflective of the way he felt.

"Good morning, Greg. Ready for your review, I trust?"

Greg still shifted a little uncomfortably when he sat down. It wasn't as easy for him as it was for Mycroft to make himself go blank, but he knew better than to take it personally. He straightened his shoulders and set his bag on his side of the desk where he had every day for the past few months. 

"Ready," Greg nodded with a small smile he'd recently practiced schooling into professionalism. 

Mycroft flashed Greg an encouraging smile in return before turning his attention to the folder in front of him. "As you know, given your age and education status, while you've done an excellent job in the office for the duration of your time here, you do not possess the necessary qualifications for continuing in a permanent position in your areas of interest. You have the requisite grades at GCSE to apply to be an Administrative Assistant or Business Support Officer, if you so choose, but placement as an Agent or Analyst does require a degree."

"That said, I'm going to reiterate that you've performed admirably, both when working with me and when partnering with other staff. This is reflected in your written review, and in the letter of recommendation I've composed on your behalf. If you have a particular degree or certification program in mind, I would be more than happy to serve as a reference for your application. As well..." Mycroft slid the first folder across his desk for Greg to view, then retrieved another folder and set it atop the first, unopened. 

Greg's mouth had been slowly growing into a grin, unable to help himself. His eyes followed Mycroft's hands as they drew back. Curiously, Greg reached for the unopened folder. Beneath it he could see the beginnings of Mycroft's letter and review, but there was no indication what the second contained. Mycroft watched with a spark in his eyes Greg had seen before, but couldn’t place, when he pulled it to himself and opened it. His eyes scanned the first few lines of the document contained within before Greg glanced up in barely restrained shock. "This is a scholarship offer." 

"Specifically, it is a scholarship offer from an organization that provides funds to students pursuing further education in the field of law enforcement," Mycroft clarified. "And yes. I anticipated that you might have interest in such things and submitted your name for consideration while I was writing your review." The corners of Mycroft's mouth began to curve slightly upwards, indicating that his words were a half-truth, at best. 

"Education is expensive, particularly to attempt to pay back while on an officer's salary and juggling living expenses. Especially living expenses in London. A chance to attend with all tuition paid is a rare opportunity."

Greg was grinning from ear to ear now, making no effort whatsoever to hide it. Inside, he was reeling. This could change everything for him. "You don't know how much I appreciate this." He gave a short laugh and a little shake of his head before he looked back up to Mycroft. Their eyes met and Greg didn't know what he'd been about to say, but whatever it was it died on his lips. He couldn't stop smiling, and it looked like Mycroft was nearly having trouble too. "It won't go to waste," Greg said sincerely. 

"I should hope not. As great a shame as I feel it to be that your interest is firmly centered on _traditional_ police work, with all the danger and legwork that entails, you would be a valuable asset to the force." Greg wouldn't stop beaming at him, and Mycroft finally gave him a genuine smile. "You have some time yet, to think about whether you want to accept and consider which schools to apply to. Do you have any questions or concerns about your review?"

Greg laughed quietly to himself and felt the now-familiar heat creep into his cheeks. He collected the folders and thought about it. He'd considered several schools already, but many of his plans were tentatively constructed around his parents' finances and the hope that he'd be able to apply to enough scholarships to maybe get a little bit of help here and there, but nothing quite like this. He would have to do some reconsidering, but Greg felt confident in the knowledge that this wasn't the last he'd see of Mycroft. The older man would be there when Greg needed advice. 

"Just one." Greg's smile warmed and he leaned closer, dropping his voice subtly. "Will my supervisor be free this evening?"

"Possibly. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I should be able to rearrange schedule a bit." A hint of color had crept up past Mycroft's collar, but he didn't avoid returning the younger man's gaze. "You should consider how you want to celebrate."

"I have a few ideas," Greg smirked. "You'll just have to find out. I think it's only fair after the surprises you've given me today, don't you?" He couldn't resist a little raise of his eyebrow, something he very likely picked up from Mycroft himself. With that, Greg rose to his feet. "I suppose I'd better give my farewells to Mrs. Perden and the rest of the office?" He still wasn't able to completely wipe the grin off his mouth. 

Mycroft shook himself out of the reverie Greg's words had produced. "Yes, I think everyone would be quite put out if you left without a word. Visit who you need to. I'll hold onto your paperwork until you get back." Mycroft gave him one last appreciative glance before he turned his attention to his monitor screen. 

It took Greg a second more to turn. He had to compose himself and wipe the smile away, but he was caught by the image of Mycroft, almost exactly the way Greg had first seen him, sitting at his desk with perfect concentration and a serenity about him Greg had never encountered in another person before. He was struck with the sudden notion that he'd miss working with Mycroft. He'd miss seeing this extraordinary man in his element. 

Greg nodded to himself once before he stepped through the door. If he was lucky, very lucky, this wouldn't be his last chance.


End file.
